


Forget Me Not

by burning_arrow



Category: Legend of the Seeker
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-07
Updated: 2016-11-06
Packaged: 2018-08-29 14:08:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8492695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burning_arrow/pseuds/burning_arrow
Summary: She bolted upright, a scream tangling somewhere in the back of her throat. Fear crept up her spine and froze her blood. Her eyes darted around her, trying to take in her surroundings. Where was she? What was going on? And then she saw her – a woman in white.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on LiveJournal on 2/19/14.

She bolted upright, a scream tangling somewhere in the back of her throat. Only a whimper made it past her lips. Jumbled images tumbled around in her brain, whirling faster than she could comprehend. She tried to grasp onto one of them, any of them, but they slipped away from her like fine sand through her fingers. Fear crept up her spine and froze her blood. Her eyes darted around her, trying to take in her surroundings. Where was she? What was going on?  
  
The sounds of battle washed over her. Men fought around her, their shapes twisted and terrifying in the flickering firelight. Screams echoed throughout the night. Panic bubbled up inside her, dark and smothering. Her breath came in sharp gasps and her heart drummed an erratic beat in her chest. _Run_ , a voice inside her urged frantically.  
  
She rolled onto her knees as a body came crashing down beside her. The man was dead, the top of his skull split open, gore oozing onto the dirt. She shrieked and forced herself to her feet. _Just run!_ screamed the voice. Stumbling forward, almost tripping over her own feet in terror, she made for the nearest tree line. The screech of metal against metal drove her forward, and she cringed, hoping a blade would not find her unprotected back before she could escape. She had nearly made it to the thick copse when she saw her.  
  
A woman in white. The woman was as beautiful as she was terrified. Two men advanced on her, leering at one another and at her. The woman held a dagger in each hand, but stared at them as if she’d never seen them before, her blue eyes wide with fear and confusion. One of the men rushed the dark-haired woman.  
Even as her mind screamed at her to leave the woman and run, her body reacted of its own volition. She threw herself at one of the men, not knowing what she would do before she did it. Pummeling the man with her fists and feet, she managed to blindside one of the attackers before he even knew what hit him. Shoving him aside, she whirled around in time to see the woman in white slit the other attacker’s throat. As the body dropped to the forest floor, the woman gaped at the bloody blade clenched in her fist.  
  
She raced up to the woman, grabbing her upper arm, but the woman just looked from the knife, to the body, and then back again.  
  
“I killed him,” the woman whispered, her voice trembling.  
  
“I know,” she replied quietly. “We have to go.”  
  
“But I killed him,” the woman repeated dumbly.  
  
Shouts came from all directions. Angry voices and the whinnying of horses. More men. Her heart leapt into her throat. Her grip tightened on the woman’s arm, tugging her toward the trees. “We have to go now.”  
  
And they ran.  
  
And ran.  
  
Whether it was ten minutes or half a night, she could not tell. When they finally staggered into a clearing, no sounds of fighting could be heard. She strained her ears, listening for any signs that they had been followed, but there was nothing save the whisper of a breeze playing in the leaves. Slowly her fear ebbed away. She sucked in heavy lungfuls of air. The woman in white held her side, as if she had a stitch, but she smiled softly.  
  
“Thank you. I think you might have saved my life. What’s your name?”  
  
She paused. In the tumult of their escape she had only wondered where she was and what was happening. Now, she realized she could not even answer such a simple question. She frowned.  
  
“I…I don’t know. What’s yours?”  
  
The woman in white returned her frown, her brows knitting together in concentration. After a moment she replied, “I don’t know either. That’s strange, isn’t it?”  
  
“I would say so.”  
  
They studied each other, slowly moving around each other as if seeing each other for the first time. The woman in white was as stunning as her first impression had been. The woman held herself upright with an almost regal air that seemed natural and unforced. Thick, dark brown hair cascaded in loose curls over the woman’s shoulders. The woman’s slender body seemed graceful, yet powerful, an impression reinforced by the image of her blade slicing easily through a man’s throat.   
  
Perhaps she should have been afraid of this mysterious woman, but she only found a strange comfort when she looked at her.  
  
“You’re beautiful,” she said before she could think to stop herself.  
  
The woman in white blushed at her words, and she suddenly felt as if she should be ashamed, though she could not name why. The woman shyly dropped her eyes to the ground.  
  
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I suppose that’s not the most appropriate thing to say under the circumstances,” she muttered.  
  
The woman in white smiled again. “It’s alright. You’re beautiful too. Not that that helps us much.”  
  
She looked down at herself. _What a peculiar outfit_ , she thought. She was dressed in tight red leather that fit her like a second skin. She noticed for the first time that her hands were encased in gloves. She could see no weapons, but two strange rods sat in a sheath at her hip. She reached for one, her hand wrapping hesitantly around the handle.  
  
Fiery agony coursed through her hand and up her arm. _Oh Spirits_ , she thought as her arm went numb, _I’m going to die_. She didn’t even realize she was screaming until the woman in white covered her mouth with one hand while prying her hand off the hilt with the other. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. They felt strange, as if she did not cry often.  
  
“What in the name of the Creator was that?” hissed the woman.  
  
“These things…they hurt to touch them,” she said.  
  
The woman in white laid a fingertip on one of the rods, only to yank her hand back with a sharp intake of breath as if it had bit her.  
  
“Get rid of them,” the woman said. She sounded scared and angry.  
  
“I’m not sure I should,” she replied. “I think they belong to me.”  
  
The woman in white stared at her for a moment as if she was crazy. “Very well. At least put them in your pack.”  
  
She suddenly felt the weight of the pack on her back. Her heart jumped. Perhaps there was a clue to her identity in there. She tugged the pack off and crouched on the ground with it. She undid the straps with nervous, shaking fingers. Most of the items told her little, merely the standard fare for any traveler – a bedroll, flint, tinder, a small knife, a sharpening stone, a few packets of dried meat and unleavened bread, two waterskins, a small purse fat with coins. She found a rag that she used to draw the sinister rods from their sheath. With great care she wrapped them in the rag and set them aside. She would not throw them away, but she had no interest in repeating her earlier experience. Among the other items she found a small journal and a quill, a promising discovery.  
  
Flipping it open, she searched for a name in the front and back, to no avail. She thumbed through the pages quickly, scanning for any immediate clues. The book seemed to be less than half filled with entries from various people, but there were few names mentioned and no way to know which might be hers. The woman in white leaned over her shoulder, scrutinizing the pages as well.  
  
“Is that blood?” asked the woman with a shiver.  
  
Looking closer at the red ink on the pages, she realized the woman might be right. _Who would write in blood?_ She shuddered at the thought. Yet, there was no ink in her pack. A sickening sensation passed through her. She picked up the quill and examined it. The tip was flecked with dried crimson stains. She reached for one of the waterskins and opened it. She dipped the quill in it and wrote one word onto a blank page of the journal.  
  
 _Help_.  
  
She stared at the word as it dried and faded. The writing was the same as that on some of the pages of the journal. Who was she that she carried instruments of pain at her side and wrote in blood? For the first time since she’d awoken, she wondered if she wanted to remember the person she had been. As if the woman in white could read her thoughts, she found a gentle hand laid on her shoulder.  
  
“You saved my life when you could have left me. The person who would do that must have a great deal of honor,” the woman said quietly.  
  
She nodded numbly. _Honor_. What an odd concept, when one didn’t even know who one was.  
  
“So what do we do now?” she asked, a wave of tiredness passing over her. The adrenaline of their flight drained from her and left behind a bone deep weariness.  
  
The woman in white considered her, chewing on her lower lip. Her blue eyes seemed almost black against her pale skin.  
  
“I think we might be out of immediate danger. It’s the middle of the night, and unless you’ve got a better idea of where we are than I do, I think we should stay put.” The woman rubbed her arms, as if she finally noticed the chill in the air. “As much as I’d love to start a fire, I don’t think we should risk being seen. We should rest. Perhaps we’ll remember something in the morning, and if not, at least we’ll be able to see where we’re going.”  
  
She pondered the woman’s words. Though she desperately wanted to find some immediate answers, fatigue gnawed at the edges of her mind. She nodded slowly, acquiescing to the woman’s suggestion. She drew the bedroll out of her pack and held it up to the woman.  
  
“Here. You’re cold, you should take it.”  
  
The woman in white looked as if she would refuse, but a shiver passed through the woman’s body and she reluctantly took the blanket. Choosing a level area, the woman spread out the bedroll and lay down.  
  
She found another spot a few paces away from the woman. She reclined on her back, using her pack as a pillow. She waited for sleep to come, but her mind thrashed around for answers. _Who am I? Who is this woman in white? Why can’t we remember who we are and how we ended up in the middle of a battle?_ She stared at the stars that peeked through the tree limbs above, wondering if she’d ever seen them before. The key to her identity, along with the identity of the woman in white, seemed to hover just beyond the edge of her consciousness, taunting her. As she pondered her dilemma, the cold of the ground seeped into her and soon her teeth were chattering.  
  
“You know, you don’t have to freeze on my account.”  
  
She started at the voice. She twisted her head to find the woman in white gazing at her.  
  
“You can share the bedroll with me,” said the woman.  
  
She thought about declining the offer, but the notion seemed absurd. Why shouldn’t she stay warm? She crossed the distance to the woman and lay down on the bedroll beside her, facing out toward the clearing. The woman drew the top layer over both of them and then wrapped an arm around her waist. The woman’s breath was hot against her neck. She tried to relax.  
  
After a long pause, the woman asked in a whisper, “Are you scared?”  
  
She hesitated. Something inside her resisted as she said, “Yes.”  
  
The woman’s arm tightened around her. “Me too. But for some reason, I feel safer with you here.”  
  
She didn’t answer and the woman asked no more questions. Soon the woman’s breath evened out and she knew the brunette was asleep. Despite the exhaustion in her limbs, she stayed awake for a long time, drawing comfort from the woman’s grasp, but still unable to sleep.  
  
***  
  
She slowly leafed through the pages of the journal in the early morning sun, trying to glean any useful information from its pages. After only a few hours of restless sleep, she’d awoken as the first glimmerings of light peeked through the trees. Sometime in the night she and the woman in white had shifted position and it had been her arm flung protectively around the woman. It felt unusual, as if this was not a normal thing for her, yet she enjoyed the press of the other woman’s body against her own. Perhaps too much. It had been this thought that had finally driven her from the bedroll.  
  
She focused on the journal hoping it would provide both answers and a necessary distraction. Soon it became apparent that the entries were messages, and they were mostly in two hands – her own and one she did not recognize, though the strokes were firm and bold. She suspected that the other writer was a man, due both to his style and the way in which he spoke of a woman named Kahlan, as if he cared for her a great deal. She studied the woman in white, who still slumbered. Something about the name seemed to fit the woman. If only the other writer had addressed her in some kind of salutation she would have the truth of her own name as well, but the entries were informal and familiar, suggesting that no names were needed. He hadn’t bothered signing his entries, nor had she, leaving both their names a mystery.  
  
The woman in white – _Kahlan_ , she reminded herself – shifted and began to whimper. The woman’s face twisted into an expression of fright and her fingers clawed at the blanket. She reached out for Kahlan, running a soothing hand along the woman’s arm. After a moment, the woman stilled under her touch, the fear draining from her face, her features smoothing. As she looked over the sleeping woman, she felt oddly satisfied that she could make Kahlan’s nightmare cease. It felt right. She left her hand on Kahlan’s shoulder for a long minute before finally withdrawing.  
  
A few minutes later, Kahlan awoke. They contemplated each other in silence. She couldn’t tell what the other woman was thinking behind those blue eyes. Her own thoughts were scattered and incoherent. The only thing she was becoming certain of was that she had known Kahlan, before she had lost her memory.  
  
The woman cleared her throat and asked, “Did you find anything in there?”  
  
“Kahlan,” she replied.  
  
“What’s that?” The woman looked at her curiously.  
  
“I think it’s your name,” she replied. “The journal is full of messages, and some of them are about a woman named Kahlan. I think that’s you.”  
  
Sitting up, Kahlan seemed to mull this information over, before answering, “It does seem vaguely familiar. I suppose it will do as well as any other name, in any case. Do you remember anything more this morning?”  
  
She shook her head.  
  
“Nor do I.” Kahlan frowned. “So what do we call you? I don’t suppose you found a name for yourself in there as well?”  
  
She shook her head again.  
  
Kahlan looked at her shrewdly. “Hmm, let me see. Astrid? No. Martha? Rachel?”  
  
She shook her head at each suggestion. None of them seemed right.  
  
“What about Denna?”  
  
Her features scrunched together in distaste at that particular option. Something about that name rankled her. If only she could remember. She cast about in her mind, looking for a name that seemed to fit. Finally, an idea popped into her mind.  
  
“Call me Grace,” she said.  
  
“Grace, is it? You don’t seem like much of a Grace.”  
  
She turned the name over in her mind, trying it on. It felt like pulling on a stranger’s clothing. No, not a stranger…a friend, like the shirt was too small and the pant cuffs didn’t reach her ankles, but it was fine because the clothes came as a needed gift. It was true, she didn’t feel like a Grace, but the name was strangely recognizable and its mention came with a small glimmer of warmth inside her. Besides, it was a better choice than any of the others had been. Perhaps she knew a Grace. She hoped the woman wouldn’t mind her borrowing her name.  
  
“It will have to do for now,” she told Kahlan.  
  
“Alright. So what do we do now, Grace?”  
  
She smiled at Kahlan. “We eat.”  
  
Kahlan returned her smile warmly. “A very sensible plan indeed.”  
  
Grace drew one of the packets of dried meat – venison, if she was not mistaken – out of her pack, and handed a few strips to Kahlan. They chewed in silence. The meat was tough and bland, but filling. She took a couple of swigs from one of the waterskins and passed it to Kahlan, who nodded in thanks. When the last of the food was eaten, Grace sighed. She knew that there were decisions to be made.  
  
Kahlan looked at her intently and asked, “I take it you have some thoughts on our situation?”  
  
“I think our first priority is to stay out of harm’s way until we can get our memories back,” Grace replied. If we get our memories back. The unsaid lingered in the air between them. She motioned over her shoulder. “We came from that direction, so I say we keep heading away from the fight. Hopefully we’ll hit a road or a river or a village, so we can figure out where we are.”  
  
She truly hoped that she was not sending them off into the middle of some vast wilderness, but without any knowledge of where they were, all directions were blank slates. It only seemed to make sense to keep danger as far behind them as possible.  
  
“Seems reasonable enough,” replied Kahlan. Throwing the blanket aside she reached for one of her boots. She pulled one of her daggers out of its sheath and extended it to Grace. “I think you should take this. I have two, and you don’t seem to have any weapons at all. Just in case.”  
  
Grace accepted the blade without a sound. She stared at the knife. Could she use it if she needed to? She wasn’t sure. Holding the dagger in her hand, fear began to creep back in under her skin. She wondered why she hadn’t been feeling it all along. She had no memory of who she was, where she was, who she was with, and there were men trying to hurt them. She should be terrified, and if she was honest, part of her was. Yet, a deeper part of her remained calm. _Perhaps a person capable of writing in blood doesn’t get her feathers ruffled easily_ , she thought wryly. And what of Kahlan? The woman seemed imperturbable. Of course, Kahlan had already proven that she could use the daggers she had.  
  
Grace opened her mouth to say that they should discuss how to get their memories back, but she was cut off by a harsh voice ringing in the morning air.  
  
“There they are!”  
  
Kahlan and Grace scrambled to their feet as half a dozen men filled the clearing. They wore uniforms of black and red leather and cloth layered over mail. They carried their swords drawn. Grace shoved Kahlan behind her and started backing out of the clearing, the dagger held out in front of her, but two more men emerged from the trees behind them. Grace’s heart stuttered. Kahlan spun around to face them, her blade also drawn. Grace felt the woman’s back press into her own, and they seemed to draw strength from each other. Grace tightened her grip on the dagger and tried not to show how scared she was to the men who were slowly closing in on them.  
  
“Remember, Lord Rahl wants them alive,” said one of the men, adding with a snarl, “but he didn’t say we couldn’t hurt them.”  
  
Bile rose thick and acidic in the back of Grace’s throat. She reached for the calm deep inside of her, trying to hold onto it as fear coursed through her veins, threatening to overwhelm her. Her legs felt like jelly. Then two of the men lunged.  
  
Whatever memories she may have lacked, her body reacted as if it knew exactly what it should do. She dodged the blade of one of the men while slashing out with the dagger at the other, making him leap back. Slipping in under one of the soldier’s defenses, she swung her hand around, the dagger connecting with his neck. Blood blossomed from the wound. As the man fell away from her, the knife was wrenched from her hand, but she spun around, anticipating the next attack. She caught the sword arm of another soldier and drove her elbow into his face. She heard the crunch of bone as he dropped.  
  
Grace caught a glimpse of Kahlan battling a handful of soldiers at once. The woman flowed effortlessly from attack to parry and back again. Though she was outnumbered, Kahlan held them at bay with ease. Grace moved to help Kahlan, when huge arms wrapped around her, pinning her arms to her side and lifting her off the ground. The arms crushed the breath from her lungs as she struggled against them. Involuntarily, she threw her head back and pain exploded in her skull as her head smashed into that of her attacker. It was worth it though, as the soldier dropped her. She stumbled away, stars in her eyes. She barely had time to register that the man was advancing on her again, when Kahlan stepped between them.  
  
The woman’s hand shot out and closed around the throat of the burly soldier. Grace stared in awe as Kahlan’s eyes swirled with inky black and soundless thunder reverberated in the clearing. Grace’s ears and joints popped. Kahlan staggered back and the soldier dropped to his knees, gazing up at Kahlan with reverence.  
  
“Command me, mistress,” he said breathlessly, his voice emanating love.  
  
Kahlan looked as shocked as Grace felt. She stared at the soldier, her mouth hanging open, her eyes huge. The soldier waited. Suddenly, the remaining men charged them, and the soldier sprang to his feet, drawing his sword and throwing himself between Kahlan and the attackers.  
  
“You will not hurt my mistress!” he roared with fury as he brought his blade down on one of the soldiers, nearly splitting the man’s arm from his shoulder.  
  
Another attacker buried his sword in the brawny man’s ribs, but he seemed to take no notice. He fought on, dispatching two more men before the last soldier fled into the forest. Only then did he fall to his hands and knees, blood pouring from the wound in his side. Kahlan rushed to him. He collapsed in the dirt, but his hand reached for Kahlan. She gripped it.  
  
“Mistress, I hope I have served you well,” he whispered.  
  
“Very well,” answered Kahlan, tears in her eyes. “Who are you?”  
  
“Jaren Tremain, of the Fourth Battalion, my lady.”  
  
“Why did you attack us, Jaren?”  
  
“Darken Rahl ordered that you and the Mord’Sith be captured. He believes that he can use you as leverage.”  
  
Grace’s stomach turned at the name of Darken Rahl. She could not remember why she should react this way, but the name twisted inside of her like a serpent tearing at her guts. Kahlan’s brow knitted together. “Leverage? For what?”   
  
The soldier did not answer. Blood gurgled from his lips.  
  
“Jaren, for what?” repeated Kahlan desperately, the pitch of her voice rising. She grabbed the man’s shoulders and shook him. “Tell me! Who are we, Jaren?”  
  
The soldier’s eyes stared into nothingness and Grace knew he would answer no more questions. Kahlan growled and yanked on his shoulders again. Grace rested a hand on Kahlan’s back.  
  
“Kahlan, he’s gone,” she said gently.  
  
Kahlan slumped back against Grace’s touch, her shoulders drooping with defeat. Grace knew how she felt. This man could have answered their questions, and now, that one slim thread of hope had been cut. They were on their own again, with no additional information save the name of the man who wanted them hunted down.  
  
“We should go. There may be others,” Grace murmured.   
  
Kahlan nodded slowly, a hand swiping at her eyes. Grace helped Kahlan to her feet before retrieving her dagger and all their gear. She briefly contemplated taking a sword from one of the dead soldiers, but the thought sickened her as she looked over the corpses. She just wanted to be away from this place as soon as possible.  
  
They left the clearing in silence, Grace taking the lead. She oriented herself to the sun and plowed as straight of a path as she could through the forest. After twenty minutes of walking, she turned to Kahlan.  
  
“What did you do to that man?” she asked, holding her voice as level as she could.  
  
Kahlan looked scared for a moment. Then she dropped her eyes and shook her head. “I don’t know. I saw him go after you and I just reacted. I didn’t even think. It just happened.”  
  
“He acted as if he was possessed.”  
  
Kahlan’s voice was small when she said, “I know.”  
  
“He died for you,” pushed Grace, her voice rising.  
  
“I know.”  
  
Kahlan lifted her head and looked at Grace. Grace could see the woman was worried. Finally, Kahlan said, “I’ll understand if you don’t want to be near me. I’m not sure I want to be near me right now. We could go separate ways.”  
  
Grace frowned at this. As disconcerted as she was by what had happened, she had never considered parting from Kahlan. “I’m not leaving you behind. We’ll figure this out.”  
  
Kahlan gave her a watery smile and Grace felt herself smile in return.  
  
“Let’s go.”  
  
They walked in silence for another few minutes before Kahlan said, “What’s a Mord’Sith?”  
  
Grace shrugged. “I have no idea.”  
  
***  
  
They travelled the entire day without encountering another soul. Grace didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed. Her first instinct was to stay hidden, but the lack of civilization worried her. They only had enough food to last for a few days, and they desperately needed information. As the sun sunk low they came upon a small creek. Kahlan offered to refill the waterskins while Grace set up camp for the night. As the brunette walked away, Grace noticed that she limped. She had not been limping before. Grace found a spot for the bedroll and gathered wood for a fire. Lighting a fire might be dangerous, but the air was even colder than it had been the night before, and she deemed it a necessary risk. As she worked she kept a surreptitious watch on Kahlan. The woman flinched as she straightened up beside the creek and grabbed her leg, as if it pained her. For the first time, Grace caught sight of the slash in the brunette’s dress. She’d seen the blood before, but until now, had assumed it was from one of the soldiers they had killed, since Kahlan had made no mention of it. Now, Grace knew the truth.  
  
As Kahlan made her way gingerly toward the makeshift fire ring, Grace glanced up from where she was arranging the tinder and said, “You’re hurt.”  
  
“It’s just a scratch,” replied Kahlan, dismissing it with a wave.  
  
“No it’s not. You’re limping. Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt?” demanded Grace.  
  
“I didn’t want to slow us down. It’s nothing, really,” insisted Kahlan.  
  
“It won’t stay nothing if it gets infected. At least let me clean it,” replied Grace, a bit more harshly than she had intended.  
  
Kahlan looked at her, her expression a mix of surprise and amusement. “Why are you so protective of me?”  
  
It was a good question – and one for which Grace had no easy answer. She just knew that taking care of Kahlan seemed like the right thing to do. She found herself reluctant to admit it so bluntly though.  
  
“Maybe it’s because you clearly need so much protecting,” she grumbled.  
  
Kahlan laughed. “Well, if you insist, we can take a look at the cut once you get that fire started.”  
  
After the fire burned steadily in its ring of stones, Kahlan settled onto a nearby log, Grace next to her. Kahlan gave Grace an impish smile. “Shall we get on with this?”   
  
Without waiting for a response, the brunette hiked up her skirts. Grace’s eyes travelled over the length of Kahlan’s leg and an unexpected wave of warmth washed through her. She blushed and hastily looked away. She felt foolish at her reaction – after all she’d been the one to insist on cleaning the wound. Silently chastising herself, she took a deep, calming breath and forced herself to focus on the laceration across Kahlan’s thigh. Kahlan had been right. The cut was largely superficial and had almost fully clotted, but the bruising around the edges told Grace how much it must ache, especially after a day of walking. Still it wouldn’t do for it to get infected. Kneeling beside Kahlan to get a better angle, Grace pulled off her gloves. She poured a little water over the cut and Kahlan hissed. Apologizing, Grace cleaned the wound as gently as she could. She probed the skin around the cut with her fingertips. It was warm, but not overly so, and Grace began to relax. Using a strip of cloth cut from Kahlan’s own dress, she bandaged the laceration, taking care not to hurt Kahlan further. As she finished the last knot, Kahlan’s hand closed over her own.  
  
When Kahlan did not move her hand away, Grace looked up into the brunette’s face. Kahlan’s blue eyes seemed to darken as they stared at each other, and Grace felt a rush of blood creeping up her neck and filling her cheeks. She wanted to say something, but her mind was utterly blank as she allowed herself to be held by Kahlan’s gaze. It was Kahlan who finally broke the spell.  
  
“Thank you,” she said softly.  
  
Grace cleared her throat, but her voice sounded hoarse when she replied, “You’re welcome.”  
  
Kahlan slowly lifted her hand from Grace’s, and Grace couldn’t help but be a little disappointed. Dropping her head again, she removed her hands from Kahlan’s leg and hurriedly stood.  
  
“That should keep it from festering,” she said quickly, her eyes searching for her pack. She refused to look at Kahlan. “We should probably change it regularly, though, just to be sure.”  
  
Before she could move away, Kahlan grabbed her hand. Without her gloves, Kahlan’s fingers burned against her flesh. As Grace glanced down at her, a shy smile crossed the brunette’s face. “I’m sure with your help, I’ll be just fine.”  
  
Grace nodded stiffly, before reluctantly disentangling her hand from Kahlan’s.  
  
That night, after a nearly silent meal, they lay back to back on the bedroll, and for the second night in a row, Grace barely slept.  
  
***  
  
Kahlan and Grace stumbled on the farm sometime around mid-morning the next day. They exchanged glances before making their way cautiously toward the farmhouse that stood on a hill with a few apple trees.  
  
“Are you sure?” asked Grace tentatively. From their hiding spot at the edge of the woods, she scanned the yard, empty of all but a few chickens scratching in the grass. The farmhouse was small, but well maintained, the yard tidy. A freshly painted barn was set back a few hundred paces from the house. It looked to be a picture of pastoral serenity, yet her insides twisted themselves in knots.  
  
Kahlan worried her lower lip with her teeth. “What choice do we have? We need to know where we are and maybe they will have some food we can buy.”  
  
If Grace hadn’t been so nervous herself, she would have thought it funny that the woman who’d slain a handful of soldiers and who’d possessed a man with some mysterious power now seemed to be so unsure in the face of simple farm folk. The problem was, with no memories to guide either of them, anyone could pose a hidden threat, even ones seemingly so innocent. Was Darken Rahl the ruler in these lands? Were she and Kahlan fugitives and, if so, would these farmers know that and turn them in? Jaren had spoken of leverage, suggesting that she and Kahlan had some importance, but what?  
  
“Let me go alone,” offered Grace. Seeing the incredulous look on Kahlan’s face, she continued before the brunette could protest. “From here you can see everything while staying hidden. If there’s trouble, you’ll have the advantage. They won’t know you’re coming. If nothing goes wrong, I’ll be back with food and information in no time.”  
  
“You sound as if you’re planning to raid a castle, not talk to a farmer,” remarked Kahlan.  
  
“Better to be cautious, I think.”  
  
“Mmm, and why is that you should be the one to go, and not me?”  
  
“Because I’m faster than you are,” replied Grace with a smirk. The reason sounded weak, even to her own ears, but she was surprised when Kahlan smiled at her.  
  
“So you plan on bravely running away at the first sign of danger, do you?” she asked Grace.  
  
Grace answered with a smile of her own. “You have my word.”  
  
“Too bad I can’t remember if you’re the type who would keep your word,” said Kahlan mockingly. “Or the type to run away.”  
  
“Then you’ll just have to find out,” grinned Grace, before she became serious again. “Kahlan, there’s no point in endangering both of us. Please, let me do this.”  
  
Kahlan studied her, and for a moment Grace thought the brunette would argue. Then Kahlan nodded. “I’m giving you ten minutes. If you’re not back in ten minutes, I’m coming up there whether you like it or not.”  
  
“Alright,” conceded Grace. From the stubborn set of Kahlan’s jaw, she supposed it was the best she was going to get.  
  
Grace found the coin purse in her pack. She emptied it of all but a few coins. Tucking the small pouch into her belt, Grace left her pack behind with Kahlan. She approached the farmhouse slowly, checking all around her, but there was no sign of people. The chickens clucked as they scattered in front of her. Somewhere a cow mooed. She’d nearly made it to the front door, when it burst open. An old man came rushing out onto the porch, a bow drawn, the arrow level with Grace’s heart.  
  
“We don’t want your kind around here!” he snarled.  
  
Grace threw up her hands, hoping the farmer wouldn’t shoot her before she had a chance to speak. Her heart leapt into her throat. This was not how she’d hoped things would go.  
  
“Please, I’m not here to start trouble,” she said. “I just need food and a little information.”  
  
“I told you, we don’t want any problems from you. We’ve got enough to deal with, without Mord’Sith adding to our worries,” he replied angrily.  
  
For the first time, Grace noticed that the man’s hands shook as he spoke. Though his face was twisted in anger, there was a touch of fear in his eyes. _He’s afraid of me_ , she realized suddenly. She kept her voice low and even when she spoke, as if he was a horse who could spook at any moment.  
  
“Look, I’m not going to hurt you,” she said softly. “I just want to buy some food. I have money, I can pay you.”  
  
The farmer grimaced and his lip trembled slightly, but he pulled the bow’s string back a little further. “I don’t want your money. Now, go, before I put this arrow through you.”  
  
Grace took a hasty step back. “As you wish.”  
  
The farmer seemed taken aback by her easy retreat. His eyes widened, and then narrowed in suspicion, as if it were a trick. He took a shaky step toward her. Grace’s mind barely registered the blur of white that burst from the open door behind the farmer. The old man’s eyes were as big as saucers when he felt the press of a dagger against his neck. He swallowed noisily, the skin of his throat bobbing against the blade.  
  
“Drop the bow,” Kahlan hissed into his ear.  
  
The farmer obeyed instantly. The bow and arrow clattered uselessly on the planks of the porch.  
  
“Get on the ground, face down,” ordered Kahlan.  
  
The farmer dropped to his knees. He lowered himself to the ground and pressed his face to the wood, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. Sweat coated his forehead. His body shook all over.  
  
“Please, don’t kill me,” he begged.  
  
“I won’t if you stay put and keep your mouth shut. Do you think you can do that?” asked Kahlan tersely.  
  
The old man nodded rapidly, his gray hair and face grinding on the dirty wood. “Yes, yes, anything.”  
  
Kahlan momentarily disappeared into the farmhouse, emerging less than a minute later. She hitched Grace’s pack over her shoulder.  
  
“Let’s go,” said Kahlan to Grace, who had been staring at the brunette the whole time. Her shock at seeing the woman was almost as great as the farmer’s. Kahlan strode off the porch and disappeared around the corner of the farmhouse, Grace’s pack swinging behind her. Grace snapped out of her stupor and chased after Kahlan. They walked swiftly away from the farmhouse, each occasionally throwing glances over their shoulder. They saw no sign of the farmer, or anyone else. Grace thought the poor man was probably still laid out on his porch, quivering in terror. She understood. Her own heart jumped around in her chest, ricocheting off her ribs. By the time they reached the tree-line, she and Kahlan were nearly running. They didn’t stop until they’d put at least a league between them and the farm.  
  
Without warning, Kahlan rounded on Grace, bearing down on her with furious eyes.  
  
“You said you would run!” the brunette growled, pointing an accusatory finger at Grace.  
  
“I didn’t want an arrow in my back,” replied Grace roughly, irritated by the sudden attack. “You should have waited. He was going to let me leave.”  
  
“How was I to know that?! He had an arrow pointed at you!” Kahlan yelled. “You could have been killed!”  
  
Kahlan trembled as she spoke, and Grace thought it was rage, until she caught the sheen of unshed tears in Kahlan’s eyes. Kahlan had been scared for her. Her own annoyance evaporated instantly.  
  
“Kahlan, I didn’t mean to frighten you,” she said gently.  
  
Kahlan laughed at this, a hollow, humorless sound. The brunette crossed her arms over her chest, and she dropped her gaze to the ground. After a moment, her posture relaxed ever so slightly. The corner of her lip twisted minutely.  
  
“At least we have more food.”  
  
“What?” asked Grace, confused at the sharp turn in the conversation.  
  
Kahlan opened Grace’s pack to reveal half a wheel of cheese, three apples, a loaf of bread, and a slab of bacon wrapped in wax cloth. Grace gaped at the food, before a grin spread across her face.  
  
“And when did you decide you were a thief?”  
  
“It turns out that I am a very practical person. I noticed these when I was coming in the back way to save you. And I am not a thief. I left some coins for that farmer. It was the least I could do after scaring the man half to death,” replied Kahlan. She seemed genuinely contrite for frightening the farmer.  
  
Almost as remorseful as Grace was for upsetting Kahlan. Grace drew closer to Kahlan, putting a hand on Kahlan’s forearm. “I really am sorry.”  
  
Kahlan sighed and peered at Grace. “I know you didn’t mean to scare me. But no more splitting up, and no more acting like the hero.” Kahlan poked Grace in the chest hard to emphasize her words. “We do this together.”  
  
“Actually, I think you were the one playing hero,” retorted Grace playfully, but Kahlan’s glower sobered her up.  
  
“Grace, I know I don’t remember you, or you me – at least not before two days ago – but something inside of me tells me you are someone very important to me. I don’t want to lose you before I have a chance to find out exactly how important you really are,” said Kahlan seriously.  
  
Grace’s mouth went dry as Kahlan’s eyes probed hers. She couldn’t deny that she felt the strong bond between them, and she wondered who they had been to one another before their memories were lost. Yet, her mind couldn’t help but recall the messages in her journal – the ones from the unnamed man who clearly had feelings for Kahlan. Was Kahlan in love with him as well? Certainly the messages seemed to suggest so. Grace was so engrossed in these thoughts that she wasn’t aware of Kahlan edging closer until the brunette’s body was mere inches from her own. Startled by the nearness of Kahlan’s face to hers, she froze. Then, Kahlan leaned forward.  
  
Grace ducked her head to the side, squeezing her eyes shut. How easy it could be, to just let things happen. With concentrated effort, she took a step back. Her breath was shallow and labored. When she opened her eyes again, Kahlan had also retreated. The brunette stared at the ground and her cheeks burned with color.  
  
“Kahlan…,” began Grace hesitantly, faltering.  
  
“You don’t have to say anything. I understand,” said Kahlan, not raising her gaze.  
  
“No, you don’t, but you should. It’s not that I don’t want…I mean…before you do anything you might regret, you should read the journal. The man who wrote most of those messages is very fond of you, and I think you may be of him, as well,” explained Grace. The truth tasted bitter in her mouth, but Kahlan deserved to hear it.  
  
Kahlan stared at her, her face unreadable. Grace tried to interpret the emotion in Kahlan’s eyes, but she gave up when that proved to be futile. The brunette gave her no aid. The silence between them stretched long enough that Grace half wondered if her words had sparked Kahlan’s memory. Kahlan’s next words dismissed that thought.  
  
“I wish I could remember,” she sighed. “I’ll read the journal tonight. For now, we should keep moving. We haven’t put nearly enough distance between us and that farm for my comfort.”  
  
Without another word, Kahlan strode off deeper into the forest. Grace trailed behind her reluctantly. She’d done what she thought was right. She did not want to conceal anything from Kahlan that might be vital, yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that somehow she’d made a mistake.


	2. Chapter 2

Three full days and four long nights dragged by as Grace waited for Kahlan to address the journal’s contents. That first night after the farm, Kahlan had taken the journal from Grace with stiff and deliberate motions, as if forcing herself to do something she had little taste for, and had settled herself down to read the book. She’d silently combed the pages while Grace waited in tense anticipation. Kahlan had read late into the night, and Grace’s anxiety only grew with each passing moment. She’d fidgeted aimlessly until Kahlan threw her a sharp look and then she’d busied herself with sharpening their daggers. Both blades were honed to a fine edge long before Kahlan had stood, quietly closing the journal. Grace’s head had popped up in apprehension, but the look in Kahlan’s eye and the tiny shake of her head told Grace that she was in no mood to talk. That night they’d once again slept back to back, if sleep was what one could call it.  
  
By day they travelled, not really knowing where they were going or why. They joked and laughed and made up ridiculous stories about who they might be. It was easy to pretend that they were two dear friends on an adventure. Neither mentioned the journal. Neither of them admitted or discussed the fact that not a shred of memory had returned to either of them, but their lack of progress weighed heavily on Grace’s mind. They skirted farms and avoided roads, but Grace knew that eventually they would need to reach beyond themselves if they were to find answers, and answers meant people. Yet each time Grace was poised to broach the topic, something would happen to send them scurrying back into the safety of the forest – a patrol of red and black clad soldiers marching along a road, a barking dog that brought with it the shouts of an angry farmer, something.  
  
The companionable facility of the days slid away at night. Dinner was more often than not a terse affair, with Kahlan withdrawing into herself and Grace not having the courage to confront her. The second night had been almost as strained as the first, with one or both of them practically jumping from the bedroll each time they brushed up against each other. The third night had seemed easier until Grace had awoken in the middle of the night to Kahlan’s arm thrown around her. Grace had lain as taut as a deer that had scented a wolf, not knowing whether to freeze or run. Eventually, Kahlan had rolled away again, but Grace remained sleepless for the last hour remaining before sunrise.   
  
Last night had been the hardest. The wind had blown bitter and biting, and the temperature had plummeted. Even with the fire, Grace’s heat had seeped away, stolen by the gusts that tugged at the blanket. Behind her, the same had happened to Kahlan. When the brunette began to shiver violently, Grace had had enough. With an exasperated sigh, she’d rolled over and pulled Kahlan tight in against her. Kahlan had not protested. Grace had realized that she craved the contact, and not just because of the cold. Her heart had ached in her chest, wondering if she was even allowed to want this. Tomorrow would be different, she’d told herself, but for one night she’d given herself leave to enjoy the feeling of Kahlan in her arms.  
  
Those arms felt empty now as Grace sullenly inspected the sky. Gray clouds hung low, foretelling storms that would no doubt leave them drenched and chilled. Her glower dropped to the deeply rutted road before her. From the traffic that had passed her hiding spot in the last hour, there must be a village or town nearby. Hopefully, one with an inn. The time had come to consider a new course, and a settlement might just be what they needed. Besides, she had no intention of freezing to death when the skies opened up, as they were threatening to do. But first, there was one small matter to attend to. Grace made her way carefully back to Kahlan, who was fussing over several garments in her lap.  
  
“I see you’ve become quite the plunderer. Preparing for a new occupation in burglary in case we can’t get our memories back?” quipped Grace, raising an eyebrow at Kahlan’s loot.  
  
Kahlan shot her a glare that was ruined by the hint of a smile underneath it. “I did pay for them, you know. The money I left should cover the loss of a few pieces of clothes.”  
  
“So, what you’re telling me is that you’ll make a very sorry burglar indeed…at least as long as you insist on paying for everything you pilfer.”  
  
“Look, you were the one who suggested that perhaps we shouldn’t stroll into town in these.” Kahlan waved vaguely at her white dress, then at Grace’s blood red leather. “I solved the problem for us.”  
  
Kahlan chucked a bundle of cloth in Grace’s direction. Grace caught it and shook it out. The clothing turned out to be two pieces – a brown, rough spun cloak that at least looked decently warm and a hideous, pale yellow dress. Grace eyed the frock with alarm.  
  
“What is this?” she asked, her trepidation readily apparent. She held the thing at an arm’s length from her, as if it emitted a foul stench.  
  
“It’s called a dress, Grace. I know it’s not the most attractive piece, but-“  
  
Grace pulled a face. “It’s revolting. And it’s a dress. I’m not sure if you noticed, but I don’t wear dresses.”  
  
“How do you know what you do and don’t do? Besides, I had limited options, so I suggest you just put it on and we’ll worry about getting you something else once we’re in town.” Kahlan’s tone was firm, but the expression on her face told Grace that the brunette was having entirely too much fun at her expense.   
  
“I’m going behind these bushes to change. I expect you’ll be changed by the time I come out.” Kahlan’s voice brooked no argument.   
  
Grace harrumphed, but began to strip. By the time Kahlan emerged from the bushes, Grace had donned the garment. Kahlan’s tan dress and gray cloak seemed to suit her, even if they were rather plain. The cut was modest and not as fitted as Kahlan’s white gown, but it managed to compliment Kahlan’s slender figure nonetheless. Not so with Grace’s attire. On top of the dress being a decidedly putrid color that did nothing for the pallor of her skin, it was ill-fitting, constricting on the top and baggy in the hips, with a hem a few inches too short. Her exposed red boots clashed jarringly with the dress’s hue. Grace made no attempt to hide her disgust. Kahlan’s eyebrows rose almost to her hairline.  
  
“It’s…an interesting fashion statement,” said Kahlan, clearly attempting to keep her voice neutral despite the amusement dancing in her eyes.  
  
“It’s absurd,” fumed Grace. “And embarrassing. And degrading. And-“  
  
“I get the picture,” said Kahlan, holding up a hand to stop Grace’s tirade. “The question is, do you have a better suggestion?”  
  
Grace desperately wanted to say yes. She even contemplated whether walking into town naked would be an acceptable alternative, but, as their motive was to avoid attracting attention, she supposed that this would have to do. At least the cloak was long enough to cover up the garish disaster that was her attire.  
  
“Let’s just get this over with,” growled Grace. “The sooner we get into town and find an inn, the sooner I can take this monstrosity off.”  
  
Kahlan, at least, had the good sense not to laugh.  
  
***  
  
The town turned out to be a small, but bustling settlement named Three Rivers. A tall stockade ringed the hamlet and the walls showed scorch marks and deep gouges, as if war had visited the town in the not too distant past, yet the gates into town were flung wide and the guards drooped lazily at their posts, rarely bothering to pass their eyes over the flow of people moving past them. The chill in the air had many travelers bundling themselves warmly, and no one looked crosswise at Kahlan and Grace for holding their cloaks tight around them and wearing their hoods pulled low. Once past the main gate, the dirt road gave way to cobblestone and the buildings looked to be in good repair. The main avenue was predominantly lined with businesses, their signs swinging in the wind. Most shops were neatly painted and a few rose taller than a single story. In fact, there were a surprising number of shops for what seemed to be a small town. The townfolk seemed to be a friendly lot, with a brief smile or the touch of fingers to hat brim or forehead in greeting as Kahlan and Grace passed, but Grace couldn’t help feeling as if she was ready to jump from her own skin every time someone glanced their way. She only hoped that her face did not show a tenth of what she felt.  
  
“Relax,” whispered Kahlan sharply, as she smiled and nodded to a shopkeeper that was sweeping his front step. “You look like a hare that’s found itself in a fox den.”  
  
Grace frowned, but forced her shoulders to fall. It was true that Kahlan looked far more at ease, with her head held high and a quick smile that seemed genuine. Grace decided not to mention how white Kahlan’s knuckles were against the gray of her cloak as the brunette grasped the edges tightly. Despite the variety of shops spreading along either side of the road, no inn yet presented itself. With each fruitless step, Grace’s agitation returned with renewed vigor. A small part of her suspected that she was being overly cautious – indeed, it had been her suggestion that they needed the knowledge and resources that a town could provide - but the greater portion cringed with the sensation of exposure around this many people. Right now, all she desired was a roof over their heads to keep them dry and a little privacy.  
  
Grace was fit to burst when Kahlan stopped suddenly, Grace nearly colliding with her backside.  
  
“What is it?” Grace snapped irritably.  
  
Kahlan peered into the window of a shop curiously. As far as Grace could see, the shop was no different than half a dozen others they’d already passed. Grace crossed her arms over her chest and directed her attention to the throngs of people and carts passing them by in the street. Her eyes searched for any sign of trouble, but the crowd milled about peaceably, taking no notice of two young women presumably out on errands. Glancing back at Kahlan, Grace caught the brunette’s cryptic smile.  
  
“What?” Grace demanded.  
  
“Come with me,” said Kahlan sweetly, wrapping her arm around Grace’s and giving her a look that Grace had come to understand meant that Kahlan was up to something.  
  
“Kahlan, we really don’t have time to be shopping,” said Grace warily.  
  
“We’ve nowhere to be, at least not that we can remember,” teased Kahlan. “What’s the hurry?”  
  
Grace pointed roughly at the leaden sky above them, as if the looming and inevitable downpour should have spoken for itself.  
  
“This will only take a short while,” assured Kahlan, her smile widening encouragingly. Her optimism only served to deepen Grace’s discomfort, yet Grace found herself being dragged into the shop despite her reservations.   
  
Twenty minutes later, they emerged with the name and directions to an inn – and a little something more. Grace contemplated her new clothes as they made their way toward the inn. She had to admit that Kahlan had not, in fact, led her into trouble, but rather had done her a great service. Gone was the horrible dress, replaced by tight brown breeches that clung close to her thighs and hips, and a cream colored tunic with an open collar and a neckline that dropped almost as low as her red leather did. A broad sash of green drew the tunic in around her waist. She had preferred the sturdy leather belts that the shopkeeper had offered, but Kahlan had insisted that the sash matched the color of Grace’s eyes. The evident pleasure that Kahlan took from that fact was enough to convince Grace to choose the sash. A pair of soft leather boots, laced near to her knee, completed the transformation. When the shopkeeper had raised an eyebrow in surprised interest at the red leather boots, Grace casually claimed that she’d won them in a game of dice. The shopkeeper had looked dubious, but kept his peace when he’d seen that their purse was full. Grace had quickly tucked the boots into her pack, not wanting to field anymore unwanted questions.  
  
They reached the inn only moments before the skies opened, pouring their fury onto the hamlet and the surrounding countryside. The pair hurriedly crossed the threshold of Edmond’s Folly, a cheerful and respectable looking establishment, despite its name. A large, open common room spread before them, stout wooden tables and chairs taking up most of the space and a roaring fire filling the stone hearth at one end of the room. A bar took up half the back wall, and beside that an open archway led into a long hallway. Grace presumed that the rooms must be down that passage. On the other end of the bar, a door swung open and two serving girls brought out trays of food which they quickly placed in front of the few travelers occupying the tables.  
  
A pleasantly plump woman with a round face and shrewd eyes approached them with a smile. The woman’s eyes roved over Kahlan and Grace, as if searching for trouble and sizing up the weight of their purse all in one go. Presumably satisfied with what she saw, her smile broadened. “Welcome to Edmond’s Folly, my dears. I am Camelia, the proprietor of this establishment. What can I do for you on such a dreary day?”  
  
“We’re looking for a room for a couple of nights, if you have one,” replied Kahlan politely, returning the woman’s smile.   
  
“Of course we have a room for ladies such as yourselves,” said the portly innkeeper brightly. Looking past them as if she expected to see someone else, her face dipped into a slight frown. “I am a bit surprised that you have no companion, though. Dark times, these, when even the Mother Confessor herself can go missing. Best you two be careful out there.”  
  
“The Mother Confessor?” asked Kahlan hesitantly.  
  
“Don’t tell me you don’t know who she is?” replied Camelia, her eyebrow raised in incredulity.  
  
Grace was quick to respond, the lie rolling easily off her tongue. “Of course we know who the Mother Confessor is, but we’ve been traveling for days without news. What’s happened to her?”  
  
“Can’t entirely say, I’m afraid. There’s whispers that Darken Rahl’s got his fingers in it, but then no one can seem to tell if he’s dead or alive. I can’t see how, even if he is alive, that he could get this far into the Midlands, what with the Mother Confessor taking the First Chair again, and the Seeker claiming the throne of D’Hara.” The innkeeper waved her hand in front of her face as if shooing flies, and her smile returned. “Ah, who can tell these days, anyway? There’s so many rumors scuttling about, it’s impossible to tell truth from lie. Could be that the Mother Confessor is safe and sound in Aydindril, for all I know. Now, how about that room?”  
  
Kahlan quickly regained her footing and began making arrangements with the innkeeper, which served Grace well. She barely heard a word as the two went back and forth. With the woman’s attention on Kahlan, neither of them noticed how the mention of Darken Rahl roiled Grace’s stomach, nor how she slowly digested the tidbits of gossip that the innkeeper had dropped. Grace peered sidelong at Kahlan, weighing the innkeeper’s words. The Mother Confessor certainly sounded important, and if Darken Rahl was this Confessor’s enemy…  
  
“Grace?” Grace blinked. Kahlan and Camelia looked at her expectantly.  
  
“I’m sorry. I drifted for a bit there. I must be tired from our travels. What were you saying?” replied Grace.  
  
Camelia frowned and Kahlan tilted her head, studying Grace. Nodding as if coming to a decision, Kahlan turned back to the innkeeper. “I think we’ll take our food in our room, if it’s not too much of a bother. If you wouldn’t mind sending it up after our bath, that would be lovely.”  
  
“Of course, dear,” said Camelia, though her eyes had not left Grace. “I do hope you’re well.”  
  
“Nothing that a hot meal and a good night’s sleep won’t fix,” assured Grace.  
  
“Good. I’ll show you to your room and then the maids will be up shortly with the hot water,” said the innkeeper. “Follow me.”  
  
Once Camelia had guided them into the open hallway and up a set of stairs that Grace had not noticed, the innkeeper left them in the room at the far end of the second story. It was a spacious room, and a fire had already been lit in the hearth. A large tub sat in one corner, and a few overstuffed chairs lurked in the others. Grace’s scrutiny, however, was reserved for the large bed that sat on the wall opposite the flames. The mattress appeared thick and comfortable, layered with ample blankets for warmth. The linens were freshly washed and spotless. It should have been a welcome sight after six nights on the cold ground. The only problem with the bed was that there appeared to be only one.  
  
“Did she not have a room with two beds?” asked Grace. After too many restless nights, she had hoped for a respite. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could bear to have Kahlan close without the brunette addressing the journal.  
  
Kahlan gave her a strange look. “I honestly didn’t think to ask. All I told her is that we wanted a quiet, private room with a bath. This is what she gave us. Should I go ask her for different accommodations?”  
  
 _Yes_. “No. This will do well. It looks very cozy. I was just surprised.”  
  
Kahlan raised an eyebrow at this. “Are you sure you’re feeling well?”  
  
 _No_. Grace smiled, trying to hide her discomfort. “I really am just tired. And Camelia’s talk of Darken Rahl did not make me happy.”  
  
Kahlan shivered at the name. Grace was grimly pleased that at least she was not the only one who reacted to it so poorly.  
  
“Kahlan, do you think that you could be this Mother Confessor?” asked Grace bluntly and without preamble.  
  
Kahlan looked stunned by the suggestion, as if the idea had not occurred to her before now. She opened her mouth as if to speak and then shut it again. Her features became pinched with what looked to be equal parts skepticism and confusion as she considered the notion.  
  
“The journal does mention Aydindril several times,” continued Grace.  
  
“I know,” replied Kahlan quickly, “but, certainly if Aydindril is the capital city of this kingdom, there must be many who live and travel there. It could be coincidence.”  
  
“Yes, but it hardly seems likely that Darken Rahl would pursue just anyone. That soldier said you – we – are important.”  
  
Kahlan shook her head fiercely, as if the idea were absurd. “This Mother Confessor sounds like a queen. I may be important, but I’m no queen. Wouldn’t I have servants and guards and carriages? Surely no queen would have been caught in the middle of some skirmish in the woods. Perhaps I serve her, though. Maybe as a diplomat or an ambassador. Yes, I think that makes far more sense, don’t you? It would explain why I would be traveling.”  
  
Kahlan’s words tumbled out over one another, and her voice held a peculiar tone, as if she were trying to convince herself of something. Grace opened her mouth to interject, but Kahlan kept rambling.  
  
“An ambassador on a mission could have strategic importance. There may have been things that I knew, things only higher level officials would be privy to. You too. That could be Darken Rahl’s ‘leverage’. Although, little good it will do anyone now. We can’t even remember our names!”  
  
Kahlan gave a little laugh, and Grace thought that it had a slight hysterical edge to it. She moved across the room to the side of the brunette, who stood with her arms wrapped around herself in front of the fire. The normally confident woman looked suddenly small, lost in the chasm of her missing memories. Grace wasn’t sure what Kahlan was more frightened of – the fact that her memories were lost, or what those memories might reveal. Grace understood the feeling. She placed a soothing hand on Kahlan’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about it now, Kahlan. We’ll figure it out eventually.”  
  
Kahlan shivered and closed her eyes. She leaned into Grace’s touch, seemingly drawing comfort. The tension draining from her face, Kahlan turned to face Grace. With solemn eyes, she searched Grace’s face and seemed on the verge of speaking when a soft rap on the door made them both jump.  
  
“Who is it?” Grace demanded loudly, putting more fire into her tone than she’d intended.  
  
A small voice from the other side of the door answered, “Begging your pardon, my lady, but Mistress Camelia sent us up with hot bath water for you.”  
  
Kahlan drew herself up and squared her shoulders. She walked briskly across the room. She was smiling by the time she opened the door, a transformation that Grace marveled at. She beckoned the maids in. “The apologies are ours. Please, come in. We forgot that you would be coming up.”  
  
Two maids hurriedly dragged the metal tub in front of the fire and emptied four pails of scalding water into the large basin. Kahlan was as gracious as could be, though Grace noticed that she did nothing to disabuse the two women of the notion that she and Grace were ‘ladies’. The maids seemed to sense Grace’s discontent and they scurried out again with promises of more water in a few moments. Within mere minutes the tub was ready and waiting, with a small bar of soap and a pair of towels draped across a nearby chair. The maids made quick curtsies and exited as fast as they had come.  
  
Without warning, Kahlan began to disrobe. Grace felt her face flush and she swiftly turned away. Suddenly, she found herself growing very angry. Could Kahlan truly not see the effect that she had on her, or was she simply toying with Grace? Running a hand through her hair just to keep it from twitching in agitation, Grace stomped over to the room’s sole window. The window overlooked the back courtyard of the inn, with a view of the stables. Ignorant of the fact that he was being watched from above, a young stablehand led two cart horses into their stalls, gray rain soaking man and beast alike and turning the earth beneath foot and hoof into a sodden mess. The view matched Grace’s mood.   
  
Behind her, Grace heard the sounds of Kahlan stepping into the tub and the brunette sighed as she slid down into the water. Grace crossed her arms, all too aware that she probably looked petulant, but unable to stop herself. She half-hoped that Kahlan would not notice, yet a small part of her wanted the brunette to ask what was wrong. It was this latter desire that came to fruition, in a way.  
  
“You’re angry,” said Kahlan. It was a statement, not a question.  
  
Blowing out a noisy breath, Grace forced herself to lower her arms. Instead her hands came to rest on the sill. Still staring out through the glass, she replied, “Yes…and no. I’m frustrated and confused. You aren’t making things very easy on me, you know.”  
  
“I know,” said Kahlan meekly, her voice sounding regretful. “It probably doesn’t help any, but I’m confused too. You weren’t wrong about what’s in that journal. He, whoever he is, does love me, and it seems like I loved him too.”  
  
“Loved – past tense?” asked Grace weakly, inwardly cursing the glimmer of hope that sparked inside of her.   
  
“It’s hard to love someone you don’t even remember,” said Kahlan simply. “But I’m afraid, too.”  
  
“Of what will happen when you get your memories back,” stated Grace. Her chest constricted painfully with a jumble of emotions she did not want to name.  
  
“Yes.”   
  
Kahlan’s voice seemed sad, though Grace refused to turn and look at her. Just the keen awareness of Kahlan’s nakedness in her vicinity had Grace taut and quivering like a stretched bowstring. She did not trust her own actions should she face Kahlan now. Kahlan was obviously struggling to find her path and Grace had no desire to force Kahlan into something she would regret later. Yet she could not still the part of her that wanted more from Kahlan. Her fingers dug into the wood of the window’s frame. Long moments stretched in the silence, the only sounds the light splashing of Kahlan’s ablutions. Kahlan finished her bath and rose from the tub. There was the faint swish of the towel and then rustling as Kahlan donned her clothing once again.  
  
“I’m going down to the common room to have a glass of wine and talk more with Camelia. I want to see if I can learn more about where we are. You should bathe before the water cools too much.” Kahlan’s words were practical, but her voice held more than a touch of tenderness.  
  
Though Kahlan waited for a moment, Grace did not respond. She did not react until the door closed behind Kahlan. Mechanically, she began to strip, but her fingers tangled in the green sash at her waist. The one Kahlan had picked especially for her. She furiously flung it aside. The least Kahlan could do was not be so blasted gentle and considerate while she slowly tore apart Grace from the inside out.  
  
***  
  
The scenery kept shifting so fast that she could hardly keep up. After a while she stopped trying, since each new setting just brought a fresh wave of pain and terror. Women in red leather so like her own beating her and leaving her for dead. A long-haired man with piercing eyes and hawk-like nose caressing her lips and cheeks as blood leaked from her skin and pooled, cooling, underneath her dangling feet. A blond woman staring at her with hateful eyes, a limp, blue baby cradled in her arms. Sickly, sweet pleasure as she brought a half naked man to his knees with a hard backhand as he thanked her for it. A tiny infant bawling his displeasure as he was swaddled up and whisked away while she watched sweaty, aching, and half-delirious from hours of labor. Blinding pain as a red rod was pressed almost seductively into her side, while her torturer whispered sweet nothings and gave her smile that did not reach her cold, dark eyes. Rats that she would swear were as big as barn cats creeping into her cell at night, watching her with hungry, vicious eyes, waiting until she slept. She tried so hard to stay awake, she really did, but eventually she couldn’t help it.  
  
Someone nearby said something. She whimpered and curled into a ball on the cell floor. She knew there was no one here to help her. The rats gathered. The voice spoke again. A name, her name – but not her name. She shivered and gave out a small cry, as something thumped her shoulder. The rats were coming. They always came…  
  
“Grace! Grace! Wake up, Grace! It’s just a dream, just a bad dream.”  
  
Kahlan’s voice cut through the fog of her nightmare. Grace’s eyes flew open and she would have tumbled out of bed in fright had it not been for Kahlan’s strong arms holding her back. Her body shook all over from a toxic mix of panic and confusion. Cold sweat poured down her brow and soaked her night shift. Her breath came in erratic, labored bursts.  
  
“You’re safe, Grace. It was a nightmare, nothing more. You’re safe,” soothed Kahlan, her voice almost a whisper. Grace slowly became aware of her surroundings – the dim glow of embers in the hearth, the sheets tangled around her legs, the warmth of Kahlan’s arms wrapped around her and hugging her close. The brunette held her from behind, her front pressed to Grace’s back and her chin on Grace’s shoulder. Grace shuddered and Kahlan squeezed her more tightly for a moment before relaxing her hold. Grace grabbed onto Kahlan’s crossed forearms, afraid that Kahlan would pull away altogether, though the brunette seemed content in her current position.  
  
“Just a dream,” mumbled Grace, as if she did not believe it.  
  
“Just a dream,” confirmed Kahlan reassuringly.  
  
Grace sorted through the blur of images in her mind, some of them standing out in stark relief against the gauzy background of the dreamworld. She desperately wanted to believe Kahlan, but, as the scenes replayed themselves in her head, she knew with sickening certainty that many of them were not dreams at all, but memories. A choked sound issued from her mouth. Hot tears of shame and sadness welled up in her eyes. She wanted to tell Kahlan the truth, but all that came out was a sob, followed by another. Sensing Grace’s distress, Kahlan tightened her embrace. Weeping, Grace clung to Kahlan as the horror of the remembered fragments of her life flowed through her, tears streaming down her face unchecked.  
  
“Not dreams,” she managed to croak out in between sharp breaths. Kahlan said nothing, only held her closer.  
  
Eventually, the last of the tears subsided. Grace felt dull and hollowed out. As fatigue crept into her bones, she wanted nothing more than to fall back into the bed and sleep a hopefully dreamless sleep. Yet she thought she should offer Kahlan some explanation, as reluctant as she was to do so. With what little determination she could muster, she shifted to face Kahlan, but the brunette pressed a gentle finger to her lips before she could speak.  
  
“You’re worn out. We can talk about it when you’re ready. For now, just sleep. I’ll be here until you wake,” offered Kahlan, her blue eyes brimming with concern.  
  
Wordlessly, Grace nodded her head. She allowed Kahlan to draw her down until the two lay curled in each other’s arms, Grace’s head on Kahlan’s shoulder. Grace found solace in the solidness of Kahlan’s body next to hers, and as her eyes fluttered shut, Kahlan passed soothing fingers through her hair. Exhaustion soon deadened her senses and weighed down her limbs. When sleep finally claimed her, she did not dream again.  
  
***  
  
When they awoke, Grace and Kahlan did not speak of Grace’s memories. They were too jumbled and out of context for Grace to make much sense of them, and Kahlan seemed content to give Grace time to sort things out. Grace suspected that Kahlan was in no hurry to hear what had upset Grace so – if their positions had been reversed, Grace was not certain that she would want to know either. On one hand, the return of some memories was encouraging, on the other hand Grace was more disturbed by their situation than ever. The violence in her past weighed heavily on her and she was left wondering once again who she had been.  
  
Groping through her pack, she lifted out the journal. The messages sometimes contained brief descriptions of a small skirmish here or an encounter with bandits there, but nothing to imply the depth of suffering that she’d witnessed in the night. She flipped to the last entry, a curt, sparing message in her hand that simply said they were making good time on their way to Galea, wherever that may be. Then she noticed the page next to it. A new entry, one that had not been there when she had last read the journal, occupied the once blank space. She recognized the firm strokes of the mysterious man. She read the message.  
  
 _Zedd and I heard of the attack. We are on our way. I hope the reason I haven’t heard from you is that the journeybook was lost in the scuffle. If you still have it, please write. I need to know that both of you are safe. Tell Kahlan I love her._  
  
Grace’s breath caught in her throat. There were people looking for them, friends. And they had been able to send word via the journal. She marveled at the book in her hand. The blood-red words stared back at her.  
  
“Kahlan, you should look at this,” she said, her voice cracking slightly.  
  
With a curious glance, Kahlan took the journal from her and read. Her face went pale and her eyes widened.  
  
“How?” asked Kahlan.  
  
“When you first saw the journal you asked me if it was written in blood. I think you were right. I think blood makes it work,” said Grace tentatively.  
  
“So you’re saying we could respond?” questioned Kahlan, her voice a mix of hope and uncertainty.  
  
“I don’t see why not,” replied Grace.  
  
They both looked at each other and then stared at the journal as if it was some strange animal that they’d never seen before. Grace crossed her arms across her chest and Kahlan shifted uncomfortably. It was Grace that spoke first.  
  
“I think we should try,” she said.  
  
“What if it’s a trick?” said Kahlan anxiously.  
  
Grace frowned. She’d had the same thought, but she didn’t see many other options. “Kahlan, other than a few pieces of memories that don’t help much, we’ve gotten nowhere in almost a week. We’re being pursued by an enemy that we don’t know. We need friends. We need help.”  
  
Kahlan ran a shaky hand through her thick locks. Grace could see the debate happening behind Kahlan’s eyes. Finally, the brunette stuck out her chin and nodded. “Very well. Let’s do it.”  
  
There was an awkward moment as they deliberated on how to get a hold of blood, a discussion cut short when Grace simply grabbed her dagger from her pack and sliced a thin line along her palm. Kahlan looked squeamish for a moment, but quietly held up an empty washing bowl while Grace squeezed a few drops of blood into it. Retrieving the quill from her pack, she dipped the tip in the blood and brought it to the next blank page in the journal. She hesitated for a moment, the quill hovering indecisively in her hand. Then she scratched out a simple message.  
  
 _In Three Rivers, at an inn called Edmond’s Folly. We are safe for now, but we are being pursued. Come quickly._  
  
She didn’t know what else to say. She hoped that she had not just spelled out their doom by giving away their location to this virtual stranger. She put the quill down and let the blood dry on the page before slowly closing the journal. Her heart pounded nervously. Kahlan reached for her hand, gently bandaging it to staunch the bleeding.  
  
“Now what?” she asked Kahlan.  
  
“Now, we stick to our plan. There’s no point in us sitting around, waiting to be rescued. I think we should see what we can find out in the town. Maybe something will jog our memories, or at the very least we can find out more about Darken Rahl and this Mother Confessor.”  
  
Grace was happy to agree, even though she suspected that this was more about escaping the feelings of fear and excitement coursing through both of them than it was about the seemingly futile search for their lost pasts. Stuffing her belongings, including the journal, back into her pack, she followed Kahlan out of the room and they headed for the common room.  
  
Over a hearty breakfast that both of them hardly touched, Camelia explained to Kahlan and Grace that, despite its modest size, Three Rivers acted as the main trading hub for settlements fifty leagues in every direction. A steady flow of barges coming down the rivers that gave the town its name meant farmers and villagers from all over came to the town to sell their crops and buy what supplies and goods they could not make for themselves. This explained how such a small hamlet could support the inordinate number of shops and stalls that lined Three River’s thoroughfares. The hamlet also supported a number of inns, but most were located off the main roads, which was why Grace and Kahlan had not noticed them when they first entered town.   
  
Camelia boasted that her inn was the finest among them, despite her late husband’s bumbling business sense. A wistful look crept into her eye as the innkeeper described how Edmond’s death had left her with little other than the inn itself and a ledger full of debts. She’d changed the inn’s name, drummed up a better clientele, and saved the inn, but part of her still missed the man that she called ‘her old goat’. Swiping a tear from her eye, the innkeeper practically shooed Grace and Kahlan out the door, chastising them for letting her prattle on when she had a business to run.   
  
The rainclouds had fled in the night, and bright sun streamed down on Three Rivers. The air was still cool, but the sunlight was doing its best to banish the remaining puddles as Grace and Kahlan made their way to the town’s open air marketplace. They didn’t really know what they were looking for, but both agreed it might help them get the lay of the land - and what better place to search for information than a bazaar that attracted people from the surrounding territories? Grace was more relaxed than she had been the day before, but she still kept a watchful eye on the people around them. And just as during the day before, the townfolk and the traders either greeted them politely or thoroughly ignored them.  
  
Kahlan seemed to browse the stalls in earnest, chatting intently with the sellers about any number of topics. Grace feigned interest, while surreptitiously listening to the conversations around her, trying to catch snatches of gossip that might be of importance. Most of the talk involved mundane subjects – discussions over the price for this crop or that livestock, haggling over a piece of merchandise, or grumblings about the coolness of the weather and the threat of an early frost – but occasionally her ears would perk up as she overheard snippets or comments about the Mother Confessor, the Seeker, and Darken Rahl. From what she could piece together, the Mother Confessor and the Seeker had allied themselves and, after a protracted war, had brought down the reign of Darken Rahl. Darken Rahl had supposedly died in the conflict, but now there were rumors that he was still alive. The story that the Mother Confessor had disappeared was repeated by some, but was refuted by just as many. She fervently wanted to ask for more details, but she did not want to draw attention to her ignorance. It was agonizing – like trying to complete a puzzle with only a quarter of the pieces in front of her.  
  
As they wended their way through the vendors, they made a few purchases, just enough to make their presence in the market seem genuine. Grace savored a sweet, dried fig that Kahlan handed her from the small sack the brunette had gotten off a swarthy man with a gap between his teeth and a strange accent. As they passed a stall exploding with the blooms of colorful flowers, Grace couldn’t help but notice how Kahlan slowed, her gaze lingering over the boisterous display. The brunette did not mention them, nor did she stop by the stall, but when they’d turned a corner, Grace left Kahlan examining a rack of intricately patterned scarves with excuses of a growling belly. She scurried back to the flower vendor and selected an elegant bouquet of pink lilies and purple snapdragons. She knew she probably shouldn’t be doing this, but she ignored that particular voice in her head. Her nose began to itch as she walked away with her purchase, but she doggedly ignored that too. She paused to pick up a few meat and vegetable filled pastries for lunch and hurried to catch up with Kahlan.  
  
When Kahlan saw the flowers her eyes grew wide, and a shy smile stretched across her face. Her fingers grazed Grace’s hand as she accepted the bouquet. Grace sneezed and Kahlan laughed. They found a bench next to a fountain where they shared the pastries, enjoying them despite Grace’s running nose. After a companionable silence, they agreed that they should return to the inn.  
  
As they turned the last corner onto the street on which Edmond’s Folly sat, Grace spotted a small group of black and red clad soldiers walking up the avenue toward them. The soldiers hadn’t seen them yet, but terror slid through Grace like an icy knife. Whirling around, she searched for a way to escape. She grabbed Kahlan’s hand and roughly dragged her down a narrow alley between a blacksmith’s shop and a bakery. She plunged blindly onward, following a labyrinthine mess of backstreets and alleys. By the time they stumbled to a halt in yet another narrow walkway between buildings, they were thoroughly lost. She sucked heaving breaths into her lungs and looked around. The surrounding buildings had a rougher, neglected feel to them than those along the town’s main roads, the wood siding of many of them unpainted and gray with age. A few leaned slightly, as if their foundations were slowly rotting out from underneath them.  
  
“Well, what do we have here, Martin?” said a voice from farther down the alley.  
  
Grace and Kahlan startled as two men moved slowly toward them. The speaker bore a malicious smile and a dangerous glint in his eyes. His companion – Martin – had a long, thin face that seemed to droop like a hound dog. Grace cursed herself for a fool for leaving their daggers in her pack. She eased the pack from her back, hoping that the men would not rush them in the meantime.  
  
“Seems like a couple of women, Sid,” answered Martin, his voice low and melancholy, just like a hound dog would sound if it could talk.  
  
“Indeed. And what do you think we should do with a pair of lovelies such as these?” The men continued their inexorable approach. Grace and Kahlan stepped back simultaneously, Grace tugging at the straps of her pack and rifling through the bag for the handle of her dagger.  
  
“What we usually do, Sid,” said the dog-faced Martin unexcitedly, shrugging his shoulders as if they were discussing the weather.   
  
“I couldn’t agree more. Well, let’s just see what pretty presents they’ve brought us,” said Sid, his grin creasing his face. Suddenly there was a knife in his hands. Martin pulled a club from the back of his belt.  
  
Kahlan tensed at her side as Grace’s hand closed over the hilt of her blade. She would have brought it out had it not been for the fist that blind-sided her. She heard Kahlan’s cry of alarm as she hit one side of the alley. Her pack flew from her hand, hitting the ground and spewing its contents onto the ground. Her head smacked hard into the coarse wood siding of a building, and the wind was knocked from her lungs. Stars exploded in front of her eyes and she wheezed heavily, but she shoved away from the wall. She heard rather than saw the scuffling of feet as the two men charged Kahlan. The third man, the one who had struck her, bore down on Grace. He was no taller than she, but he was built twice as wide, with ropey muscles that coiled in the arms exposed by his sleeveless shirt. She ducked as he took another swing at her, but her reflexes were dulled by the first blow and another fist landed in her gut. She doubled over and a kick to her legs swept her off her feet.  
  
As she hit the cobblestones she had a glimpse of Kahlan kicking Sid’s knife from his hand only to be caught by Martin’s club in the thigh. The brunette’s leg faltered, but she managed to jab a fist into his gut before Sid locked an arm around her throat. The next moment, Grace’s attention was forced back to her own predicament when a sharp kick slammed into her side. Another kick landed on her arm as she protected her face. A dark, sticky fluid oozed into her eye. As the man’s boot came down a third time, some grim part of her found it amusing that they’d evaded armed soldiers only to be undone by common street thugs.  
  
Then she saw her possessions strewn in front of her on the stone. The mysterious red rods had spilled from their rag case. She grabbed at one wildly, ignoring the blistering pain that shot through her arm when her fingers touched the handle. Gritting her teeth, she jammed its tip into her attacker’s ankle. He howled in agony. Struggling to her knees, Grace aimed higher, catching the man between the legs. He shrieked. When she twisted the baton, his cry was cut off, his mouth working uselessly. His face turned green, then gray, before his eyes rolled up into his head and he collapsed backward in a senseless heap. She hoped that when he awoke he would find himself sterile.  
  
Heaving herself to her feet, she glowered at the two remaining men, who stared back at her with awed and fearful eyes. The pain screaming through her hand and arm fed her fury and steeled her nerves. With a wordless animal cry she threw herself forward.  
  
Grace fell on Martin, striking him over and over as he screamed in terror and pain. Taking advantage of the men’s shock, Kahlan twisted out of Sid’s grasp. She swung her arm around and slammed the edge of her open hand into his throat. The man gargled and stumbled back. Within seconds, both men were scrambling back up the alley, leaving their fallen accomplice to his fate.  
  
Grace made to pursue them until Kahlan clamped a hand on her arm. With a feral snarl, Grace swung around, her strange weapon instinctively raised. Kahlan calmly maintained her grip on Grace’s arm. As their eyes met, the fight drained out of Grace. Her hand fell to her side and the red baton slipped from her fingers, clattering as it hit the stone. She became suddenly aware of the aches throughout her body, and she sagged back against the wall of the alley. Kahlan looked her over, worry etched into her features.  
  
“I’m alright,” said Grace weakly.  
  
Kahlan paused for a moment, considering her doubtingly. “I’ll believe that when we get you back to the inn.”  
  
Too feeble to even argue with Kahlan, Grace simply let Kahlan gather up their scattered belongings. With wary care, the brunette returned Grace’s batons to their rag wrappings. When the pack was full, Kahlan slung it over her shoulder. She scooped up the bouquet of flowers where she’d hastily dropped them. Remarkably they had survived the fight, only a little worse for wear at the abuse of being thrown aside. Kahlan brushed the dirt off of them and rearranged them, a wistful look in her eye. It seemed a silly thing, yet terribly important all at once.   
  
Kahlan offered an arm to Grace, but Grace refused, saying that at the very least she could walk on her own two feet. They made their way slowly back through Three Rivers. Despite the town’s small size, it took nearly twenty minutes before they found familiar streets again, and another five for them to locate Edmond’s Folly. Grace never thought the town could seem so large, but when even breathing hurt, walking turned into a challenge. They saw no sign of the squad of soldiers, and other than a few odd looks that were no doubt meant for Grace’s battered appearance, they made it to the inn unmolested. The sun was still high in the sky, indicating it was still early afternoon.  
  
They managed to sneak past Camelia, who had her back turned to them while she dealt with other patrons. The climb up the stairs left Grace winded. By the time they reached their room, only sheer will propelled Grace forward. The bed beckoned to her. She barely pulled her boots off before sinking onto the top of the covers, not even bothering to get underneath. She ignored Kahlan’s pleas to care for the cut on her forehead and grumbled that all she needed was sleep. She had time to vaguely feel bad about the stains her clothes would no doubt leave on Camelia’s blankets before unconsciousness crashed over her like a wave.


	3. Chapter 3

The sky was dark outside when Grace finally awoke. As she slowly surfaced into reality, she realized that she lay on her back with nothing but her dirtied shirt and her smallclothes still on. She had been tucked under several warm blankets, only her head left exposed. Her eyebrow throbbed, feeling swollen and stiff, and her jaw ached from the punch. She gingerly raised herself to her elbows. Her whole body offered protest, but it was milder than she had expected. The room was dim, lit only by the glow of the fire, and still. On the night stand sat a vase with the flowers that she had bought for Kahlan. Movement from one of the chairs in the corner caught her attention. Kahlan rose and moved quietly toward her, bringing a tray with rags and water with her.   
  
“How do you feel?” asked Kahlan gently, holding out a cup to her.  
  
“Better,” replied Grace in between greedy gulps.  
  
“We should look after that cut now that you’re awake,” said Kahlan after a moment of silence. “Can you sit up?”  
  
Grace eased herself up further. Once she was upright, she swung her legs over the side of the bed, testing her arms and legs by gently flexing them. Nothing seemed to be seriously injured and there were no broken bones. The worst was a few sore ribs and the cut on her forehead, which seemed to throb a little harder when she moved.  
  
Kahlan sat on the edge of the bed beside her, a small bowl of water and a few rags in her lap. Dipping a rag into the water, she wrung it out lightly and brought the cool cloth to the cut. Grace winced as the material scraped her bruised and abraded flesh, but she held herself still under Kahlan’s ministrations. Flecks of dried blood flaked off, staining the rag and dropping into Grace’s eye. She blinked. Slowly and gently, Kahlan dabbed away the crust and cleaned the wound. Once the washing was done, she carefully patted the cut dry with another rag.  
  
After she’d finished, Kahlan sat quietly twisting the last rag in her hands, her head down and her eyes on her lap.  
  
“Thank you,” said Grace, her words feeling entirely inadequate.  
  
“It was the least I could do,” responded Kahlan, her voice thick.  
  
“Kahlan, what’s wrong?” Grace asked uneasily. Had something happened while she’d been out cold?  
  
Kahlan raised her head and her eyes looked glassy as if she were holding back tears. Her azure eyes searched Grace’s with piercing emotion. Suddenly, she moved forward and her mouth collided with Grace’s lips in a bruising kiss. After a jolt of shock, Grace kissed her back, ignoring the not so subtle pain of her jaw. Kahlan’s mouth was hot and needy, nipping and sucking on Grace’s lips. The brunette’s tongue muscled its way into Grace’s mouth, and a thrill of desire coursed through Grace. For a moment, she allowed herself to be consumed by Kahlan’s passion, answering with her own fire. She could have lost herself completely in Kahlan’s touch had it not been for one disquieting thought.  
  
Reluctantly, almost mournfully, she leaned back, placing a firm hand on Kahlan’s chest to keep the brunette from following. “What about him?”  
  
Even without a name, they both knew exactly of whom she spoke. Grace expected sadness or confusion or any of the other countless, conflicted emotions from Kahlan that she’d seen in the brunette before, whenever the topic of her mysterious lover had arisen. She was taken aback by the determined, almost angry look that crossed Kahlan’s features.  
  
“I don’t care if I am supposed to be with someone else. Nothing about that feels real to me. I want you,” said Kahlan fiercely, her eyes darkening to a deep indigo. “I know what I feel – with you. I know what I felt when I held you that first night. I know what I felt when you cared for my leg. I know how terrified I am when you’re in danger – which has happened far too often in the last week – and how beautiful I feel when you look at me like you’re doing right now. It is you I want to be with, no one but you.”  
  
Before Grace could answer Kahlan’s bold declarations, the brunette swept her hand aside and pressed into her for another, even deeper kiss. Grace felt delightfully light-headed and giddy as Kahlan’s hands slid behind her neck and into her hair. Her own hands gripped Kahlan’s hips, digging in and finding purchase on the fabric of Kahlan’s dress. With an irresistible force that both surprised and pleased Grace, Kahlan guided her backward onto the bed until she was pressed into the mattress underneath Kahlan’s weight. She reveled in the feel of Kahlan’s body on hers, the electric sensation of Kahlan’s mouth on her throat.  
  
Sliding under the hem of Grace’s shirt, Kahlan’s hands scraped over her stomach and up her ribs. Unintentionally flinching, Grace hissed loudly as Kahlan’s fingers hit the fresh bruises from the attack. Kahlan bolted upright, her hands jerking away from Grace’s body, a mortified look crossing her face. She leaned back until she straddled Grace’s hips.  
  
“Oh Spirits, I’m sorry!” she said hurriedly, her voice full of embarrassment.  
  
Grace gave Kahlan a pained grin that was meant to be reassuring as she sat up slowly. She grabbed Kahlan’s hands and kissed each in turn on the knuckles.  
  
“Maybe we shouldn’t…” started Kahlan.  
  
“If you can just stay away from my ribs and my forehead, I think we’ll manage.” She gave Kahlan her best smirk, hoping that Kahlan would take her bad attempt at humor as an indication that she could handle this. She wanted Kahlan too much to let a few scrapes and bruises keep them apart. Softly, she added, “I’m alright, Kahlan, really.”  
  
The brunette looked as if she didn’t quite believe her, but then Grace circled Kahlan’s waist with her arms and planted an open mouthed kiss on the exposed skin just above the neckline of Kahlan’s dress. The brunette gasped, a pleasurable sound that sent tingles down Grace’s spine.  
  
“Take this off,” she growled, tugging at the dress.  
  
Kahlan quickly obliged, slipping out of the dress and leaving nothing but small clothes. Grace tried to strip off her own shirt, but her ribs were having none of it, and in the end Kahlan had to assist her. Before Kahlan could reassess her claim of being fit enough, Grace brought the brunette close again. The touch of skin on skin muted any argument Kahlan might have had, and Grace’s mouth on her hard nipple, her tongue swirling over the hardened nub, left the brunette panting. Grace lingered over the creamy breast in her mouth before attending to its twin with equal fervor, all the while wondering at the twist in her luck. In the days they’d traveled together, she’d barely let herself think of Kahlan like this, assuming that the brunette had another to whom she belonged.  
  
Now, with Kahlan’s head thrown back, her mouth open and ragged breaths escaping her throat, Grace couldn’t imagine not wanting this. With one last nip of her teeth, she freed Kahlan’s breast and leaned back, taking in the sight. The brunette’s head slowly sank forward to face Grace, her eyes barely open, thin slits behind which Grace could see dilated pupils almost eclipsing sparkling blue irises. The skin of Kahlan’s neck and chest flushed with arousal. Grace wrapped a hand in Kahlan’s dark curls, sweeping her into a kiss that scorched Grace’s senses. In a way, she had only known Kahlan for a week, yet she felt as if she had been made to do this, as if Kahlan was the only thing that mattered in the whole world.  
  
“Grace,” whispered Kahlan breathlessly, reverently, when they broke apart.  
  
“Please, don’t call me that - not tonight,” Grace said sadly at the sound of the name that she had no claim to. “We both know it’s not my name. Tonight I just want to be me, even if I can’t remember who that is.”  
  
Kahlan nodded solemnly and leaned in for another kiss, which was followed by another, and another after that. Grace didn’t know if minutes or hours had passed when she found herself atop Kahlan, their smallclothes discarded on the floor. All she knew was the feeling of them coming together, only aware of Kahlan’s heat surrounding her fingers as Kahlan’s fingers nimbly found their own way across Grace’s overheated sex. They moved together, rocking in an ever more urgent rhythm that drove them closer and closer to the edge.  
  
Grace stared openly and admiringly at Kahlan as the brunette’s face creased with her building passion, drinking in the beauty of the vision before her. She did nothing to stop the moans that came unbidden from her as answer to Kahlan’s sweet sounds of pleasure. She held on, letting the pressure build inside of her while coaxing Kahlan toward her own release. She wanted to remember every detail of this moment.  
  
Then Kahlan cried out, her eyelids widening and black filling her eyes. Grace’s sex clenched, her own climax rippling through her body as an unseen force slammed into her. Stars burst in her vision and it was as if a hot gale tore at her, threatening to rip her away. She clung to Kahlan, her head tucked into the brunette’s shoulder, her lips lightly brushing Kahlan’s neck while the storm passed.   
  
As her vision cleared, Grace smiled. Feeling limp and boneless, Grace allowed Kahlan to roll her onto her back, her limbs sprawling uselessly on the bed. Kahlan leaned on her chest, her face close to Grace’s. Grace thought Kahlan was going to kiss her until she caught the utter look of terror on the brunette’s face.  
  
“Cara! Cara! Are you alright?!” Kahlan’s voice was desperate as the brunette’s hands fluttered over Grace’s face, fingertips brushing her cheeks, chin, forehead. Tears streamed down Kahlan’s cheeks. Her voice was a choked whisper. “Oh Spirits, you have to be alright.”  
  
She shivered as the last of Kahlan’s magic passed through her, but otherwise she felt good – better than good. She felt blissful. She didn’t understand why Kahlan seemed so panicked.  
  
“Kahlan, I’m fine,” she chuckled softly, taking hold of Kahlan’s hands. Suddenly, the rest of Kahlan’s words struck her like a thunderbolt. “Wait, what did you call me?”  
  
Kahlan grew very still. “I called you Cara. I think that’s your name. I don’t know how I know. It just sort of came out.”  
  
 _Cara_. She slid into the name with the ease of pulling on a favorite pair of boots. Cara. She knew with certainty that this was her name. At last! The rest of her memories still lay fragmented and shrouded in fog, but that one scrap of information seemed the whole world to her at the moment, made altogether sweeter because it was another gift that Kahlan had given her.  
  
“Thank you,” said Cara, a wide smile spreading across her face. She planted quick, joyful kisses on Kahlan’s lips repeating her gratitude between each kiss. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”  
  
Kahlan withdrew a few inches when Cara paused, her eyebrows raised suspiciously. “Are you sure you’re feeling well?”  
  
Cara laughed at the incredulity on Kahlan’s face. “Kahlan, I assure you, I feel perfect.”  
  
Relief was clearly etched on Kahlan’s features. When she spoke next her voice was halting, almost shy. “I just thought…I mean, when I…finished… I felt that power rush through me - the same power I used to possess Jaren. I was so frightened that I had hurt you.”  
  
Cara slowly digested this, the magnitude of Kahlan’s meaning weighing on her. Had she almost become a slave to Kahlan? Or more to the point, why hadn’t she? She had seen the black in Kahlan’s eyes, felt the magic rushing through her, over her. Yet her will had remained where Jaren’s had not. That thought both elated and confused her. She did not know what it meant.  
  
“Cara? Please talk to me. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to happen,” said Kahlan in a pained voice, breaking Cara’s reverie. The brunette’s relief had melted into a new kind of worry – one over Cara’s reaction rather than her fate.  
  
In response, Cara pulled Kahlan down to her. Kahlan curled up against Cara’s side, placing her head on Cara’s shoulder. Cara ignored the faint warning from her ribs as Kahlan snuggled closer. She peppered Kahlan’s curls with light kisses before finally speaking.  
  
“Kahlan, I know you would not intentionally harm me. And your power didn’t affect me. I don’t know why it didn’t, but I’m going to enjoy it. I want you.” Her last words were decidedly inadequate, but she knew that she could not say more. Not yet.  
  
“I’m dangerous, Cara. You might not be safe with me,” said Kahlan, her voice vibrating on Cara’s chest.  
  
“Kahlan, I’m not safe either. You saw me today. Now, you’ve seen my body too. You know there are scars there that aren’t normal. What memories I have all speak of darkness and violence. I use weapons that are instruments of torture. I’m not certain I want to remember who I was, if that is all there is to my life. And yet…”  
  
“Here we are,” finished Kahlan for her.  
  
They lay in silence, each lost in their own thoughts for a few minutes. Finally, Kahlan stirred, her fingers tracing over one of the very scars that Cara had mentioned, a thin white line that ran just below her collarbone. Pushing herself up on an elbow, the brunette placed a tender kiss, barely a soft whisper of lips, on the puckered flesh. The touch sparked bursts of heat that raced like lightning across Cara’s skin. Kahlan raised her head slowly, capturing Cara’s gaze with the deep intensity of her eyes.  
  
“Whatever you may have done or had done to you, whoever you may have been, it doesn’t matter. Even without your memories, I can’t believe that who I’ve known for the past week isn’t part of who you really are.”  
  
“A petty thief and a fugitive?” replied Cara drily.  
  
“Someone who has cared for me with kindness and protected me. Someone who was honorable enough to share what was in that journal, even though it went against what you wanted for yourself. That is someone I would be happy to be with, memories or no.”  
  
“If you feel that way about me, then why are you so scared of who you may have been?” asked Cara quietly.  
  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Kahlan a little too quickly.  
  
Cara brought a hand to Kahlan’s face, brushing over her cheek and settling in the hair just behind her ear. It was a gesture meant to both comfort Kahlan and keep the brunette from hiding her face. “Kahlan, I saw the way you reacted when I wondered whether you might be the Mother Confessor. Don’t lie to me now.”  
  
Kahlan had the decency to blush at having been caught out. She swallowed audibly. “It was overwhelming – the idea that I could be someone so important, so powerful. She’s led armies and nations, fought wars. That’s terrifying to me. I can’t even stop myself from being scared by common thugs. I can’t be her.”  
  
“And yet, some part of you wonders, because of your powers?” Cara questioned, taking a guess at what could bother Kahlan so deeply.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
They stared at each other for a long moment. In the end, it was Cara who said, “Whoever we are, we can face it. When our memories return, we’ll know how to be those people. And I’ll be right there with you. I’m not going to leave you. You have my word.”  
  
“Together then,” replied Kahlan, giving Cara a smile that banished the fear from the brunette’s eyes. “As long as I have you.”  
  
Kahlan settled back onto Cara’s chest, closing her eyes drowsily. Cara almost thought that she was asleep when Kahlan murmured, “You know, we could just leave our memories behind. Start a new life.”  
  
Cara was startled by the suggestion. All she could think to say was, “We’ll talk about it in the morning. You’re tired. Go to sleep.”  
  
As Kahlan slumbered on her chest, Cara’s mind raced over Kahlan’s last words. Could they really do it? What would they be giving up in return? And if they never remembered would it really matter? Maybe the lives they would leave behind were really as scary as they seemed. Would it be so awful to just disappear, have a blank slate? Despite the allure of this possibility, Cara couldn’t shake the feeling that it was vital that they remember who they were. When she finally drifted off to sleep, she dreamt of a small cottage in the woods, a beautiful woman with shining blue eyes, and all around gray ghosts calling her name, only to disappear when she turned to face them.  
  
***  
  
The door flew open with a bang. Cara leapt from the bed, grabbing a candle holder from the night stand that seemed like it could pass for a weapon in a pinch. Kahlan came to her feet with a dagger in each hand. Cara dimly registered the fact that both of them were naked as two men spilled into the room – a younger man, handsome, but in need of more than a passing acquaintance with a razor, and a wiry older man, at least a head taller than the younger man, with long features and even longer gray hair.  
  
“Kahlan! Cara! Thank the Spirits we found you. We’ve been looking for…you…”  
  
The younger man’s voice trailed off as he took in the two women before him. His head swiveled from one to the other, his eyes huge with shock and disbelief. His face flushed a violent shade of scarlet.  
  
“Stay away from us, or I will make you wish you’d never laid eyes on us,” growled Cara. The two men acted as if they knew her and Kahlan, but she didn’t remember them. She felt cornered and foolish for having been caught off guard. She was in no mood to mince words.  
  
“Take it easy, child. No one is going to hurt either of you,” said the old man gently, his hands held up to demonstrate the truth of his words. He gave her a placating smile.  
  
The younger man seemed to have recovered from his initial distress. He, too, offered a gentle smile as he moved a pace closer to Kahlan, his hands outstretched. “Kahlan, please, trust us. We’re here to help. We’ve been searching for you.”  
  
“Who are you?” demanded Kahlan, holding her daggers a little higher. The young man halted, his expression a mix of confusion and hurt. Cara fervently wished they were on the same side of the bed. She wasn’t sure she could protect Kahlan from where she stood.  
  
The old man answered. “I am Zeddicus Z’ul Zorander, wizard of the First Order, and this is Richard Cypher Rahl, the Seeker of Truth.”  
  
Zedd. He had been mentioned in the journal’s last message, and in several messages before that. He was a friend. That would make the younger man by his side the anonymous author of many of the messages – the one who loved Kahlan. The one Kahlan probably loved in return. Cara suddenly felt faint and a wave of nausea passed through her.  
  
The old man continued. “You’ve lost your memories. I can help you get them back.”  
  
Cara would have sworn the room was spinning. Somehow Kahlan materialized at her side, a hand on her back, steadying her.  
  
“Cara, are you ill?”  
  
Cara glanced at Kahlan and then at Richard. The young man’s eyes were averted from them, his jaw working furiously behind his tight lips. The brightness in his eyes could have been anger or pain – probably both. Zedd waited patiently, his eyes making a deliberate study of the room while carefully circumventing Kahlan and Cara.  
  
“I’m fine,” muttered Cara, her eyes fixed on Richard.  
  
“Are you sure?” asked Kahlan.  
  
Cara’s gaze returned to Kahlan. Concern clouded Kahlan’s eyes. Cara wanted to take Kahlan’s hand and run. For days she had wanted her memories back, but now dread filled her stomach at the idea. Richard and Kahlan had a past, and once that past was returned to Kahlan, they might also have a future. The thought of losing Kahlan sliced through her like a cold blade. But Kahlan deserved the truth, no matter what that was.  
  
“Kahlan, I think this man can help us. We should let him try,” she said, forcing a smile that she didn’t feel.  
  
Kahlan studied Cara, as if sensing the lie behind the smile, and Cara nearly lost her resolve. Kahlan cupped Cara’s cheeks with her hands.  
  
“We’re going to be alright, Cara. Just like you said, we’ll do this together. I promise,” assured Kahlan.  
  
Then Kahlan kissed her. As her eyes fluttered shut, Cara heard a strangled sound come from Richard, and he said, “I can’t do this, Zedd.”  
  
“Richard, they don’t know who they are,” replied the wizard, his voice kind, sympathetic.  
  
“I know. I still…I can’t…” Richard’s voice was full of sorrow and resignation. “I’ll be in the common room. Come find me when it’s done.” The sound of his footsteps filled the room and then the door shut.  
  
When Kahlan broke off the kiss, only Zedd remained in the room with them, and he assiduously avoided looking in their direction. Kahlan smiled at Cara, and it broke Cara’s heart. Even as her lover offered her reassurance, Cara knew it wasn’t going to be alright. It was never going to be alright.  
  
***  
  
Cara regarded Kahlan from the camouflage of a thick stand of trees. She knew that Kahlan wouldn’t be able to resist taking a ride on such a sunny day as today, and she knew that Kahlan often stopped at this secluded glen. Her luck had played out and Kahlan was there, watering her horse at the small stream that ran through the forest opening. She was relieved to see that Kahlan was alone, while at the same time appalled at the lax security of the Home Guard, who should have never let the Mother Confessor wander off unprotected. She glanced down at the fistful of wildflowers in one hand and rubbed her neck nervously with the other before she caught herself and forced her hand to relax at her side. Finally, with an inaudible swallow and a toss of her head she emerged from her hiding spot.  
  
The Confessor noticed her almost immediately and stiffened as the Mord’Sith approached. For the slimmest instant Cara thought she saw Kahlan’s eyes light up, before that sliver of happiness was engulfed by a wave of hurt, and then her eyes went blank and unreadable. The mask of the Mother Confessor slammed down over the brunette’s features. Kahlan remained silent and alert as Cara approached. The Mord’Sith halted only a pace from the Confessor.  
  
“Kahlan,” said Cara, her voice cracking strangely over the name. She paused, cleared her throat, and gruffly said, “I brought these for you.”  
  
She thrust the flowers forward in Kahlan’s direction. It was not a gentle gesture. Kahlan stared at the flowers as if she had never seen their like before. She made no move to take them. Suddenly Cara felt deeply foolish. The flowers were a terrible idea. Cara eyed their scraggly, inadequate stems and slightly drooping blossoms with disdain. Yet before she could withdraw her offering, Kahlan slowly reached out and took them from her. With the inscrutable expression on the Confessor’s face, the Mord’Sith wondered if Kahlan was going to throw the flowers away, or worse, back into Cara’s face. The Confessor did neither, her hand falling by her side instead. Cara let out a small breath that she hadn’t even realized that she’d been holding.  
  
“What do you want, Cara?” said Kahlan, her voice glinting with the icy calm of the Mother Confessor.  
  
Cara knew she deserved this. Kahlan had every right to despise her. Yet, she could not leave without telling Kahlan the things that she needed to say. She’d practiced the exact words for weeks, yet now she found they failed her.  
  
“I need to talk to you,” she finally managed to say.  
  
Kahlan tilted her head and studied Cara. The Mord’Sith had seen that look before – the look that said that the Mother Confessor sat in judgment of the person before her and had found them lacking. Dread filled Cara as the Confessor spoke. “ 'There’s nothing to talk about.’ Isn’t that what you said, Cara, right before you left?”  
  
“Yes,” Cara admitted through gritted teeth. It was true. She’d lasted one month around Kahlan and Richard and Zedd before she’d fled. One month of agony, broken up only by the hunt for Darken Rahl and his pet Nicci. It had been Nicci’s spell that had deprived them of their memories, at the command of Rahl, during the ambush of the Mother Confessor and her Home Guard escort as they made their way to Galea. The first order of business after Zedd’s counter-spell restored their memories was to track down Rahl. When they’d finally freed Nicci from the Rada’Han and stuffed Darken into manacles, dragging him back to Aydindril, Cara knew that there was nothing left for her. She’d spent two days in the Confessors Palace before she simply left. She’d no intention of even saying goodbye, but Kahlan had caught her at the stables. Remembering it now released a wave of anger with Kahlan and shame at her own cowardice.  
  
“What did you expect me to do, Kahlan? Stand by while you and Richard became the happy couple once again?” she snarled, her voice rising. This was not what she’d intended to say, but the words tumbled out, bitter and defensive.  
  
“I expected you to keep your word,” retorted Kahlan, her voice still cold, but her eyes now ablaze. “You said we’d figure it out together.”  
  
“And how long did ‘together’ last? Two days before you ran back to Richard!” spat Cara, her voice dripping with bile.  
  
Color rose in Kahlan’s cheeks as the heat in her eyes intensified. “I did not run back to Richard and you’re a fool if you think I did! I said I needed time. I said we needed to focus on stopping Rahl before we could talk. But the moment we had him, you left. You left me!”  
  
“I had to!” bellowed Cara. The ferocity of her words stunned both of them. Kahlan seemed to lean back in surprise and disbelief, while Cara’s shoulders slumped. Her voice was softer and tinged with pain and regret when she spoke again. “I couldn’t lose you. Not after the things we said and did when we didn’t have our memories. I couldn’t stay and watch you be with him.”  
  
“I never said I chose him. You couldn’t even wait for me to tell you,” said Kahlan, her words so low that Cara barely caught them. She sucked in a harsh breath as the Confessor’s words sunk in.   
  
Cara grappled with her next words before saying, “When I left, I thought I could be done with it – with you, with him. I hated myself for not being strong enough to stay, but at the same time I thought it would be better this way. You would have each other, and I could forget. I could leave without having betrayed Richard, knowing that you’d be safe and happy with him.”  
  
Cara waited for some response from the Confessor, but the brunette simply stared at her as if she was something alien. Then Kahlan shrugged slightly as if slipping off the emotions of the conversation. Her frosty calm returned as she asked, “Why did you come back?”  
  
“I couldn’t stop,” said Cara, anguish starting to fill her chest and ooze into her words. When she’d come back, she’d known the risks, known that there was every possibility, even likelihood, that Kahlan would react exactly as she was. Still she’d committed to this path simply because there weren’t really any others – at least not ones that didn’t leave her drunk or willfully risking her life in some ridiculous battle as someone else’s mercenary. Yet the coldness in Kahlan’s eyes tore jagged chunks from her heart.  
  
“You couldn’t stop what?” asked Kahlan, her eyes narrowing.  
  
“Loving you,” choked out Cara. Kahlan’s silence was excruciating, the Confessor’s eyes flat. Cara found the words being yanked out of her, her rambling better than Kahlan’s seeming indifference. Some part of her recognized the irony that for once it was she who desired to talk, and Kahlan who was having no part of it. “No matter where I went, what I did, I couldn’t stop. Don’t think I don’t know how incredibly absurd and idiotic my being here is right now. You and Richard are probably happily married by now and my arrival can’t mean anything but pain and confusion, for me if no one else. But the thing of it is, I had to tell you. I love you, Kahlan. And I’m sorry I left. I will leave, if you want me to. But you had to know.”  
  
Kahlan remained absolutely, unnervingly still, like a statue carved from ice.  
  
“Kahlan?” whispered Cara, her voice small.   
  
“Four months.”  
  
The words were so soft, Cara had to strain to hear them. Even then, she was not sure she had heard right. “What was that?”  
  
“Four months,” said Kahlan louder. The Confessor’s mask disappeared, replaced by a jumble of emotions that seemed to build up slowly but inexorably, like the beginnings of a snow slide. “Four months, Cara.” The avalanche picked up speed, rumbling down the mountain toward the Mord’Sith. “Four months of not knowing where you were, whether you were dead or alive. Not knowing whether I meant anything to you, always regretting that I hadn’t told you how I felt. Four Creator forsaken months! How dare you do that, how dare you make that decision for us!”  
  
The avalanche hit Cara in the form of the furious Confessor lunging at her with fists and tears, the wildflowers dropped on the ground. The Mord’Sith stumbled back as the Confessor’s feelings crashed over her and Kahlan’s hands pounded at her chest. Cara knew Kahlan could have done much worse if she wanted – the blows fell weakly, the actions of an angry lover not a seasoned warrior. She let the Confessor spill out her rage and hurt, knowing that she deserved this and probably much worse. Her heart ached, realizing that she had caused Kahlan such injury.   
  
Suddenly, Kahlan yanked on her collar and brought Cara’s head forward into a crushing kiss, leaving Cara breathless and bewildered. The kiss spoke of loss and anger and desperation as Kahlan’s lips roughly pressed into Cara’s. Cara tasted the Confessor’s tears on her tongue. Yet beneath the brutal reminders of Cara’s betrayal lay a certain sense of homecoming, as if all were right between them, or at least that it would be.   
  
Kahlan broke away first, though her hands remained tightly clenched on Cara’s leathers, her arms pressing into Cara’s chest. The Confessor’s eyes shimmered with fury, love and hot tears. Cara thought Kahlan was the most beautiful sight she’d ever seen. She hated to shatter the moment, but another obstacle loomed in her mind.  
  
“What about Richard?”  
  
Kahlan lifted an eyebrow at this. “You really don’t know, do you? Where did you go, Cara? No, wait, I don’t want to know. After we got our memories back, I told Richard the same thing I told you – that I needed time. After we captured Rahl and you disappeared, he came to me again, wanting answers. I told him what I would have told you if you’d stayed. I chose you.”  
  
Kahlan’s tone was matter of fact, without accusation, but the words stung. Cara winced, realizing that if she’d only been brave enough to hang on for a short while longer that she would have spared them both much heartbreak.   
  
Kahlan continued, “Richard made a valiant attempt to change my mind, and I was so hurt that I considered it for a little while. But in the end, I knew that I didn’t love him the way I once did. It was better to be alone, than to live a lie. Richard left for D’Hara months ago with Zedd and Nicci.”  
  
“Nicci?!” said Cara incredulously.  
  
Kahlan smiled thinly at this. “Yes. It seems that after we freed her, she felt she owed some debt of gratitude to Richard. The rumors out of D’Hara are quite explicit as to how she’s expressing her – thankfulness.”  
  
Cara shivered a bit at the news. Nicci seemed as cold as a snake the last time Cara had encountered the sorceress. Yet she could see some sense in it too. In her own strange way, Cara had come to adore Richard for seeing the good in her when everyone else saw her as no more human than Nicci seemed to her. Had Kahlan not been there, would she have let those feelings blossom into something more? Perhaps Nicci had found a different path because of Richard and grown to love him for it. If that was true, then she hoped that they both found happiness. And what of her happiness, and Kahlan’s?  
  
“I did an inexcusable thing leaving.” It was a statement, not a question.  
  
Kahlan nodded. “Yes, you did.”  
  
“I am sorry for that.”  
  
“So you say, and I believe you. But it doesn’t fix it,” Kahlan said sadly.  
  
“What can?” asked Cara, a bit forlornly. Kahlan loved her – she could see it, had tasted it in the kiss – but now she worried that she had created a terrible, irreparable rift between them, something that no amount of love could surmount. Despair lurked in her mind and twisted in her gut.  
  
“You staying would be a start,” Kahlan replied. Cara’s heart leapt. She scarcely believed that she'd heard correctly.  
  
“I promise-“  
  
“No. No promises,” said Kahlan firmly, emphasizing her words with a vigorous shake of her head. “We’ve tried that. This is about time. You just need to stay and each morning I wake up next to you will make it a little better.”  
  
Cara nodded in agreement, not trusting her voice for a moment. Her chest swelled. Kahlan hadn’t forgiven her yet, but the Confessor was offering her a way back home. And for now that was enough.  
  
“Walk with me for a while,” said Kahlan, dropping her hands from Cara’s collar. Cara instantly felt the absence, but then Kahlan slipped a hand into her own, gently tugging her along the stream’s edge.   
  
They strolled in comfortable silence as Cara absorbed the enormity of what had passed between them. Events had gone far better than she could ever have hoped for. Kahlan was giving her a second chance, whether she merited it or not. She knew she had work to do, lost time to make up for, trust that needed mending. And she knew there were other truths to be told – about how she had run not only because she thought she would lose Kahlan, but because Kahlan had seen too much of her when she had been Grace and Cara could not bear to be that vulnerable. About the fact that Cara had loved Kahlan even before they had lost their memories, a love apparently strong enough to protect her from confession even without her memories. The time would come when she would have to voice those and other revelations to Kahlan. But now, with Kahlan here with her, their fingers intertwined, she believed that she could finally be strong enough for all of it.  
  
“Cara, why did you bring me flowers?” asked Kahlan suddenly, turning to Cara and grasping the Mord’Sith’s other hand.  
  
Cara hesitated before answering, “Because Grace would. I’m not her, but she is part of me. Probably the better part of me. It took me a long time to figure that out. I want to be the type of person who _would_ bring you flowers.”  
  
“Well, maybe there’s hope for you yet,” remarked Kahlan. “You know, I liked Grace a lot.”  
  
“I did too,” said Cara with a bit of awe at the truth of it. “I enjoyed the other Kahlan as well.”  
  
“Hmm, that’s good,” hummed Kahlan, a quietly amused smile crossing her face, “because she’s been visiting lately.”  
  
“What do you mean?” asked Cara, her curiosity piqued.  
  
“I mean we might have a small problem with some minor theft at the Confessors Palace,” replied Kahlan.  
  
Cara thought she did an admirable job of not laughing when she asked, “And I suppose that this thief has taken to paying for her stolen goods?”  
  
“Well, yes, now that you mention it.”  
  
“As long as there are no hideous dresses in my future, it shouldn’t be a problem,” said Cara.  
  
“We’ll see about that,” answered Kahlan with a wicked smile that promised Cara trouble.  
  
Cara wiped the smile off of Kahlan’s face with a fervent kiss of her own. As the Mord’Sith drew her lover into an embrace, she knew she’d pay any price Kahlan wanted to exact from her. As long as she had Kahlan, it didn’t matter.


End file.
